The Trouble with Clocks
by Mary Margaret Blanchard
Summary: This takes place after the breaking of the curse, when the clock is set back to 8:15. Mr. Gold and Regina strike a new deal, whereby the past is undone and re-written. The setting is Boston, around the time of Emma's twenty-eighth birthday. Strong focus on Emma and Mary Margaret, but all characters will make appearances. Read content warnings within.
1. Relativity

**WARNINGS**: Non-graphic representations of abuse. Content may be uncomfortable for some readers. Discretion advised.

This takes place after the breaking of the curse, when the clock is set back to 8:15. Mr. Gold and Regina have struck a new deal, whereby the past is undone and re-written. The setting is Boston, around the time of Emma's twenty-eighth birthday.

* * *

Time is a hazy little concept, at best. It's neither here nor there. It simply _is_, or _is not_. It can move fast or slow, depending on one's perspective, or, sometimes, not at all.

The trouble with clocks – aside from their incessant, infernal ticking - is that they are charged with tracking time, or, perhaps, rendering the illusion that they are tracking it.

That is, until they break.

With a stomp of her foot, Mary Margaret Blanchard realizes that her watch ceased to function at about the same time the activity bus rattled past the 'Leaving Storybrooke' sign, and, apparently, at the exact same moment that her phone terminated its timekeeping functionality. She closes her eyes, and shakes her head, wondering what sort of strange universe she's seemingly strayed into, where clocks don't work and, even better, where her phone has no signal.

Now, alone in the deserted parking lot, after offering - against her better judgment - to pick up the lunch that little Peter Barrie had left behind - she has no idea when she needs to meet up with her class and the other chaperones. She'd left the group exploring the different exhibits, and they wouldn't eat for another couple of hours.

It wouldn't be quite so bad, she thinks, if her day hadn't started off with Peter spewing his partially digested Lucky Charms all over the aisle of the aging, decrepit activity bus. She'd watched in muted horror as the curdled milk and rainbow colored marshmallow bits splattered and bounced, before coming to rest on the moldy rubber mat, and on the shoes of poor, unsuspecting Henry Mills, who, with his nose firmly implanted in a book, was oblivious to the gastrointestinal distress of his classmate. The bus jerked to a rapid and ungainly stop, only exacerbating the nausea of the boy, who looked entirely too green.

Mary Margaret had tried to explain the situation to the occupant of the trailing sleek Mercedes, but Regina Mills didn't care that Peter routinely jumped off swings, rode the spinning playground merry go round as if it was a rocket ship, and had never once exhibited signs of motion sickness.

No, with an emphatic finger, the mayor had beckoned Henry off the bus, given him a new pair of shoes – after all, Regina Mills was prepared for _any_ situation - and opened the passenger door for the boy. There was simply no way her son would be continuing the field trip on the lumbering monstrosity, now reeking with the stench of vomit.

Mary Margaret had done her best to ignore the musty scent of brown pellet powder that the gym teacher had sprinkled on the chunky puddle of regurgitated cereal. She'd cracked a window, and managed to keep the children from killing each other all the way to Boston's New England Aquarium. No small feat, by any stretch of the imagination, especially on a bus with poor shocks, and strange odors that permeated the air even before Peter tossed his breakfast.

With a frustrated exhalation, Mary Margaret wanders back on to the wharf towards the aquarium. The sun hangs like an ornament in the sky, dipped in glittering, autumnal gold and bright morning radiance.

Tourists take advantage of the fall glow and snap pictures of the wistful young woman who lingers at the end of pier, looking down at the skeleton leaves that are floating on the face of the rippling water.

In a pair of high heels that have been known to chew holes in her stockings, and a dress that accentuates the rigid arch of her back, Emma Swan stares out at the ferryboats in the Boston harbor. She stands in the same spot for hours, listening to the bustling crowd and flinching whenever she hears the chime of the bells from the clock tower. Children race across the brick walkways that overlook the churning bay, squawking louder than the pigeons that strut up and down the wharf with the stateliness of gentlemen in their finest evening wear.

Emma holds a crumpled bag of birdseed, but only seems to remember it when a light rain begins to fall. She cups a handful of the grains in her palm before scattering them into the wind.

With her mouth set in a willful frown, Emma keeps her eyes on the ocean and a lone seagull that is flying circles in the distance. Her hair whips around her neck and hides the reddish blotches on her skin – the broken blood vessels that stretch across her body like roadways marked on an interstate map.

It's only when she feels the steady drizzle that Mary Margaret utters the softest of curses. Pinpricks of water stab at her itinerary, as she squints in a futile effort to see the time on the distant clock tower. Heedless of the running ink that blurs the schedule beyond legibility, the brunette scampers forth, in hopes of finding someone with a watch. Pedestrian traffic is clearing rapidly, as everyone rushes to escape the inevitable downpour. Yet, despite the increasing volume of precipitation, she comes to a startled standstill.

Perhaps it's the wind scattered birdseed that catches her eye, or the swirling of pigeons, as they land in a circle around the blonde woman, like tick marks around the face of a watch. Or, perhaps, it's something else entirely, for even when time ceases to function, fate is not so easily diverted.

Regaining the breath caught in her throat, she approaches, intending only to ask the time.

"Excuse me, but could you possibly tell me what time it is?"

Emma shifts into a defensive stance as soon as the schoolteacher utters the polite inquiry. Her instinct is to avoid all eye contact with the stranger, but she risks glancing up at Mary Margaret and then finds herself gawking at her. She expects to be judged by the woman - for no other reason than that experience has taught her to be wary of everyone - but on closer examination, she notices that the brunette is smiling sheepishly at her.

As thunderclouds grumble overhead and a flash of lightning strikes the sky, Emma lifts her chin and her eyebrows curve inward in an expression that manages to convey both her curiosity and her caution. "I—" she stutters. "I never wear a watch."

It's the tentative stutter that first puts the brunette on alert, followed by haunted blue eyes that seem much too familiar. Furrowing her brows, she responds carefully, "That's okay. I just have to meet my students for lunch, and my watch stopped. I'm sure the aquarium staff can help me."

Mary Margaret pauses, realizing that she's offering a likely unwanted explanation. She's about to apologize, and step away, when the wind shifts slightly, whipping long, blonde hair away from the other woman's face and neck, revealing angry red marks, and ugly purple bruising.

Her verdant eyes soften, and with a feeling that she will only much later recognize as maternal instinct, she speaks gently. "Are you...okay?"

Emma tenses as the breeze exposes her injuries and sends a chill up her aching spine. "Yeah," she murmurs. "I'm fine."

The schoolteacher scrutinizes her with a sympathetic frown, and while she looks like someone who is patient and caring, the blonde regards her as a threat. It isn't that the brunette is intimidating, or even that she has any imposing qualities at all, but Emma can't figure out her motives for asking.

On reflex, she wraps her arms in front of her body and glares down at the pavement. She craves compassion, but she knows better than to search for it in a stranger, or from anyone who offers it so freely. There is always a cost associated with accepting tenderness from another human being, and she is well acquainted with the forms of compensation that people tend to expect or – _more commonly_ – demand from her.

In keeping with that train of thought, a man pulls up on a motorcycle that roars like an aggressive animal. August removes his helmet and eases up from the bike, swinging his leg over the seat and eyeing her in a way that communicates an unspoken warning. As he strolls over to her and reaches out to take her arm, she shies from his touch and her next exhale comes out as a strangled cry. "Emma," he snarls. "Where the hell have you been? You were out all night. I told you to be home by 8 o'clock—"

Emma drops her bag of birdseed, but instead of stooping to pick it up, she remains stationary and mute. August interprets her silence as a calculated act of defiance, and tightens his grip on her elbow.

She is familiar with this scenario, but she still resists him because she has learned that the severity of her punishment corresponds not with the degree of her disobedience, but rather with the harshness of his temper on any given day. He is only the puppet of their foster parents, but a part of him has always derived pleasure from hurting her and watching her suffer. Everyone treats her like a child, but they become frustrated whenever she behaves irresponsibly. "Let go," she quietly requests, but August is already digging his fingers into her skin.

With an air of casual interest, he dips his head in the direction of Mary Margaret. "Make a new friend?" he asks Emma, his voice thick with sarcasm.

In a not so distant past, that may even have been just a forgotten yesterday, Mary Margaret would have backed away, and never gotten involved. However, her spark had reignited, despite the fact that she couldn't recall that it had ever been missing.

As the dark man approaches, the hairs on her neck spike in warning. She's uncomfortable with the blonde's body language, and the muted whine she emits only serves to summon Mary Margaret's protective streak. She's aghast at the way the man speaks to – Emma – and when he doesn't heed the woman's request to be released, she finds herself unable to stand by.

"As a matter of fact, she did," Mary Margaret interjects, when it becomes apparent that Emma can't or won't fight back. With a glance at the bowed head, for Emma won't meet her eyes, she continues, "Emma and I were just having a chat, and she was going to help me locate my class," she finishes, sliding her hand over the one gripping Emma, and daring him to defy her. "I believe she asked you to let go. We need to be on our way."

August smirks at the brunette, because few people have ever tried to challenge him, and he's never encountered anyone who has dared to stand between him and Emma. He is not only amused by Mary Margaret's intervention, but he's also excited about the prospect of provoking a reaction out of her. "Emma's never had any friends," he insists. "She's better at making enemies—"

His cold eyes trail to the silver cross that hangs at her neck, and then travel down to the form-fitting sweater that buttons over her white blouse. "You look like you're tons of fun," he remarks. "Are you here with your bible class?"

When he finishes giving her the once-over, he slips his arm around Emma's back and applies pressure to her bruised shoulders. He waits until she takes a gasping breath and then steps away from her.

Emma wears a solemn frown, but her eyes stray to Mary Margaret. With every passing moment, she gravitates closer to the brunette and widens the gap between herself and August. She wonders why the woman chose to meddle in their affairs, but she is grateful for the diversion and the opportunity to evade the domineering man. "I'll be home soon," she promises him, and before he can respond, she steers the schoolteacher in the direction of the aquarium.

Mary Margaret's eyes never waver from those of the man in front of her. She deliberately refuses to rise to his bait, and only glares at him as he speaks to her.

She is hyperaware of the flinch and sudden inhalation from Emma, as the man wraps an arm around her shoulders. She immediately recognizes that this intruder into their conversation is responsible for the blonde's pain, and that the injuries are much more widespread than those Mary Margaret can see.

Although her gaze is still leveled at the motorcycle rider, she notices Emma inching towards her. When the other woman is close enough, Mary Margaret takes Emma's hand in her own, as she would one of her students, and pulls their joined hands slightly behind her. She's not entirely sure it'll be welcome, but, at the moment, she doesn't care. There's an overwhelming need to put herself between Emma and her accoster.

With one last look of warning at the man, Mary Margaret allows Emma to lead her away.

She's quiet for a moment, giving Emma space to collect herself and settle her breathing. When the blonde's panicked strides finally slow to a more normal pace, Mary Margaret gently tugs her to a halt just outside the aquarium.

Before Emma can pull away from her, the brunette glances over at the woman. She's younger than she appeared upon initial inspection, perhaps a couple of years younger than Mary Margaret herself. Despite her wardrobe choices, Emma has a childlike quality to her that Mary Margaret finds quite unsettling. As such, when she finally speaks, her voice is soft, and kind, and she allows it to take on the same cadence she uses with frightened birds. "So, Emma, it's nice to meet you. I'm Mary Margaret. Do you want to tell me who that was?"

Under most circumstances, Emma feels uncomfortable with any form of physical contact, but she doesn't pry her fingers away from Mary Margaret, or tell her to let go. She is accustomed to this treatment, and behaves as naturally as a girl who is out shopping with her mother.

Her distress only becomes evident when they pause outside of the aquarium and she tucks her hands under her arms. She studies the cement and the red building that she's never visited, even though she's lived in Boston for most of her life. "No," she mutters, but through no conscious effort, she's spouting his name. "That was August."

Emma finds it difficult to assign him any other label, because the nature of their relationship defies simple definition. He is a part of her family – the person who taught her to tie her own shoelaces, and who made sure that she brushed her teeth every night. But he's also the person that has been visiting her bedroom since she was a little girl, and she once carried his baby. "He's my foster brother," she breathes.

She fidgets because she knows that Mary Margaret is looking directly at her, and she senses that the woman is perceptive enough to discern her fear. As soon as she's composed herself, Emma motions towards the glass doors of the aquarium. "We should probably find your class," she suggests.

After they step inside, Emma gestures to a glassy-eyed young man who has a badge pinned to the front of his vest, declaring that he works there. She goes along with Mary Margaret, because it's still raining outside, and by now her feet are blistered and sore. Her plan is to wait in the lobby until she's certain that August has departed, and return to the wharf after the storm subsides.

As she confirms the time with the information desk attendant, Mary Margaret watches as Emma wanders over to a cushioned bench, and slowly leans back against the wall. Inexplicably relieved that the woman isn't leaving, the brunette exhales softly and turns to face the blonde.

She briefly ponders how to proceed. The interaction between Emma and August had disturbed her deeply, and she's quite concerned as to what will happen to Emma when she returns home, given the evidence of abuse on her body. She doubts the woman will offer any additional information in regards to her situation, and Mary Margaret is loathe to inquire, simply because it is apparent that Emma either doesn't want to talk, or is afraid to do so. The brunette isn't even entirely sure why she feels an overwhelming urge to help Emma, other than the fact that she reminds Mary Margaret of a small, terrified animal.

Realizing that she has to wait for Emma to come to her, she borrows a pen and scrap of paper from the attendant and scribbles down all of her information. She then approaches the blonde carefully, and sits down next to her, intentionally leaving a half-arm's length of space between them.

"Thanks for helping me out today, Emma, I really appreciate it. I'm...not entirely sure what your situation is, but August didn't seem like a very nice person. If you ever need help… or want someone to talk to, here's my number and address," she finishes, extending the paper to her new friend. "No one has the right to hurt you," she adds quietly, her voice barely a whisper.

Emma hesitates before taking the slip of paper, but when her fingers connect with the outstretched hand of the stranger, she experiences an upsurge of longing that confuses her. Her nostrils flare because she feels lightheaded, and she sucks on the inside of her lip while Mary Margaret mutters her observations.

Regina locates them by the entryway, and although Emma has never spoken to the tall woman, she recognizes her face and the sound of her voice. Her grating contralto causes the blonde to stiffen and shrink back against her seat. "You're supposed to be at home," she shrieks. "Not out making new friends—"

Mary Margaret looks back and forth between Emma and the esteemed mayor of Storybrooke. She cannot fathom why Regina would even know Emma, let alone feel the need to harass the poor woman.

Without conscious thought, she again places herself between Emma and the person intimidating her. "You know, that's the second time I've heard that today, and, quite frankly, I'd like to know what is going on between you, August, and Emma. Why would the mayor of a tiny little town in Maine care what a woman in Boston is doing on a random Friday afternoon?"

Regina glares at her outspoken enemy, and her eyes become dark and pitiless. "Ms. Blanchard," she barks. "You have been gone all morning. I suggest you get back to your class, and allow me to deal with Emma. I've known her foster parents for many years, and I'm sure they're worried sick about her. Ever since she was declared incompetent, it's been a terrible hardship on the family, and yet they continue to care for her through these rough times—"

As Regina announces her incompetence to everyone who happens to be loitering in the lobby, Emma lowers her eyes to the floor and withdraws into herself. She endures the public humiliation without contesting any of the remarks that are being made about her.

Emma expects that Mary Margaret will listen to the dignified mayor, and she suffers a flurry of panic that leaves her gasping for air.

With her body still firmly planted between Regina and Emma, Mary Margaret turns to glance at the downcast blonde. Almost impossibly, Emma has managed to make herself look even smaller, and the brunette frowns sympathetically, knowing there's absolutely no way she can leave the other woman alone with Regina, especially given that there's just something about the mayor's explanation that doesn't sit well with her.

Green eyes flutter shut as Mary Margaret turns back to face Regina, and she crosses her arms defiantly. "You know, she doesn't seem particularly incompetent to me. Furthermore, were you aware that her family has been hurting her?" Mary Margaret whispers angrily, trying not to call attention to their small group.

Regina tries to cultivate her patience, but her mouth is puckered in a murderous scowl. "I happen to know everything about their situation," she spits. "Miss Swan has a tendency to become violent, and they discipline her only when it is strictly necessary."

Emma raises her chin and blinks to spare herself the shame of shedding tears in front of the livid mayor, and the woman who seems determined to protect her. She wants to tell Mary Margaret that Regina is a liar, but she only groans whenever she attempts to talk.

In her growing agitation, Regina whips out her cellphone and speed dials the home number of Mr. and Mrs. Darling. She insists that they come down to the aquarium and collect their ward. As soon as she ends the call, she paces around in front of Emma and straightens her suit jacket.

Mary Margaret again turns to face Emma. Her arms are still crossed over her chest, and she watches the blonde thoughtfully for a moment. The other woman is trying to blink back tears, and Mary Margaret cannot reconcile this Emma, who flinches every time Regina speaks angrily into her phone, with the violent person that the mayor seems to think she is.

She crouches down, such that she's eye level with the blonde. "Emma," she calls gently, "I don't know if I can help you today, but I promise I _will _help you, okay?"

Mary Margaret neither expects a response, nor receives one, so she stands and reaches out to catch Regina's arm.

"Madame Mayor, I understand what you've been told, but I want you to _look_ at Emma. She has bruises and red marks all over her neck and face. That doesn't look like discipline. It looks like abuse—"

Regina sneers at Ms. Blanchard and waves her hand in a way that is both dismissive and belittling. She persuades the schoolteacher to step aside, and tactfully conceals her concern until Mr. and Mrs. Darling arrive. Although she detests how they've been handling Emma, she doesn't want anyone to interfere with the arrangements that she's made, especially because the following week is the blonde's twenty-eighth birthday.

Emma watches as Mary Margaret walks away, and she feels anxious when the brunette disappears from view. She sits in silence while her foster parents speak with Regina, but her eyes continue to search for the schoolteacher.

When Regina is face-to-face with Mr. and Mrs. Darling, she leads them towards an alcove by the entrance to the aquarium. She bombards them with accusations and insults, but her final threat is the only one that Emma happens to overhear. "It is clear that you can not deal with Ms. Swan," she roars. "I'll call the state. They'll take her away, and throw her into a group home for incompetent adults—"

Emma has been hearing that threat since she turned seventeen, but Regina has never snapped at her foster parents with this degree of ferocity. A part of her wonders what it would be like to live in a group home, but she also fears the unknown. Mr. and Mrs. Darling have predictable tastes and attitudes, and as she stares at them from across the lobby, she feels relieved to be going home with them.

Mr. Darling wears a red tie and a dark jacket with epaulets. His black moustache curls upward with his lip, and there is a prosthetic limb where his left hand used to be. Mrs. Darling has wide hips, and she rests her hands across her plump midsection while Regina shouts at her. The couple appears unaffected by the news that they may lose Emma, and they hurry away without waiting for the blonde to catch up.

Emma follows her foster parents out to their car, and Mrs. Darling secures her seatbelt, because it is one of the small ways that she can make her feel helpless. On the ride back to their apartment, the Darlings scold the young woman and inform her that August will be watching her that evening. In the privacy of their home, they force Emma to sit on her own hands and set up an egg timer that ticks off the minutes that she will have to remain in an upright position.

When she is allowed to move, August leads her into the bathroom and fills the tub with suds. She undresses and sinks into the warm water, feeling her muscles cramp and release. He scrubs the flat plane of her stomach, and behind her ears. After he inspects her, he motions for her to stand up and then wraps her in a towel. They go into her bedroom, where he selects a revealing, pink nightgown for her to wear, and she pulls it down over her damp face.

Their foster parents have gone out for the night, and August decides to be generous with her. He tucks her into bed, reads her a story, and then picks up her baby blanket. As he kisses her goodnight, he hands her the bundle of wool and smiles down at her. "There," he says. "That's better, right?"

Emma wants to scream at August, but she knows what will occur if she opposes him. In submission, she grabs her baby blanket and slides underneath the covers. She's aware that he could still change his mind and choose to punish her. "Yes," she agrees, and before long, he's turning off the light and leaving her bedroom.

After he's gone, she lies awake and searches for the scrap of paper with the schoolteacher's address. She doesn't know why the woman swore to help her, but she thinks that the brunette is the type of person who keeps her promises, even if she's convinced that she will never see her again...


	2. Event Horizon

Warnings: Mentions abuse.

* * *

The bell rings and a stampede of screaming children run down the hallway, pushing past Mary Margaret as they hurry home for the weekend. She waves to her students and then stands in the schoolyard, searching around in her purse for her car keys. In her silk blouse and tapered skirt, the brunette looks like a woman painted on an old postcard—her expression is forlorn and thoughtful. She adjusts the strap of her handbag as she walks through the parking lot, but she comes to a stop as she reaches her old Jeep Wagoneer.

Henry Mills leans against the tan panel of the vehicle with his storybook in hand. His bangs hang in front of his face, and he has to tilt his head so that he can squint up at his teacher. "I need a favor," he announces.

The boy looks determined as he opens the book to its final pages and gestures to an illustration. Mary Margaret leans in to study the picture, and she is instantly disquieted by what sees. It is a baby enwrapped in a blanket that bears the name of the woman she met in Boston.

_Emma_.

Mary Margaret shades her eyes from the sun as Henry launches into an explanation. "You met someone the other day," he says. "Her name is Emma Swan."

The brunette nods to acknowledge that she's listening, but she appears dazed whenever she thinks about Emma and that initial encounter. Henry closes his book and holds it close to his chest. "She's my real mom," he tells her. "I found my birth records."

Mary Margaret frowns as she considers the new piece of information. While she forms a better understanding of the mayor's involvement with the blonde, Henry continues to talk. "She grew up in foster care," he reports. "She still lives with her foster parents, and they're planning to throw her into a group home for incompetent adults."

Mary Margaret isn't sure what all of this has to do with the storybook, but her cheeks grow rosy with anger when she ponders why Emma's foster parents might want to place her in a group home. "When?" she breathes. "When are they planning to do that?"

Henry feels triumphant when he hears the note of urgency in his teacher's voice. "Three weeks from now," he intones.

* * *

**Three Weeks Later**

The town of Storybrooke is not unlike a black hole. It appears finite, yet holds the infinite mass of the entirety of every fairytale land that ever was, or will be.

To the casual observer, one not under the influence of magic or curses, standing at the Storybrooke sign on the outskirts of town would be a curious sight, indeed, for no one would ever seem to leave the quiet little town. Outsiders arriving would simply appear to go so infinitely slow that they never pass the Welcome sign. Yet, to the passengers of those cars - certain residents of Storybrooke - coming and going seems as normal as apple pie, as if the physics of the town are just the same as in the rest of the world.

Of course, despite the perception of normality, Storybrooke is anything but...

Time, or the lack thereof, is controlled by the clock tower in the center of town, rather than the other way around. For the second time, it had been frozen for twenty-eight years. _Until today_.

Riding in the old Jeep to an unfamiliar place is only the latest of many uncomfortable events in Emma's week. She hadn't known whether to sit in the front or the back, and only ended up clambering in the back, when given the choice, because it felt safer. She managed to awkwardly buckle herself in, before wondering what to make of her new guardian's pleased smile. Now, cruising down the highway towards her new home, she stares out the window, grateful for Mary Margaret's silence.

A thundercloud bursts in the darkening sky, and the landscape blurs in a blend of rain washed colors. Mary Margaret remains focused on the road, but she glances in the rearview mirror at regular intervals. It's clear that she wants to make eye contact with Emma, but doesn't attempt to draw her into a conversation. She senses the blonde's discomfort and tries to be as unobtrusive as possible.

As she drives into the heart of Storybrooke, Mary Margaret veers off of the road and parks behind a small apartment building. She unfastens her seatbelt and spins around to look at Emma. "This is it," she announces. "Let me help you with your boxes."

Mary Margaret opens her trunk and pulls out a box that is filled with clothes. She holds an umbrella over Emma, and they unload the car in only two trips.

When they retreat into the shelter of her apartment, the brunette sets a kettle on the stove and begins boiling water for hot chocolate. "I want you to feel at home here," she asserts.

After she pours the cocoa into a pair of earthenware mugs, Mary Margaret settles down at the table and offers one of the drinks to Emma. "Do you have any questions for me?" she asks.

Staring at her mug, and anything other than the brunette, Emma shakes her head. "No."

Mary Margaret nods because that is the response she expected to receive. She sips her cocoa and then tips her head to the side. "Okay," she replies. "We should get you unpacked."

After they finish their drinks, Mary Margaret leads Emma up the stairs to the bedroom in the loft. "Do you need help?" she asks her.

Emma feels her anxiety increasing. It's not that Mary Margaret is intimidating, but rather that she isn't used to being asked her preferences, or if she needs help. Her foster family had simply told her what to do, and assumed she needed help with everything. Emma no longer knows what the rules are or what's expected, and she really doesn't want to disappoint her friend, so she frowns miserably at the floor as she responds quietly, "Yes?"

Mary Margaret lowers herself to sit beside Emma and then begins prying the tape from the top of the boxes. With a sinking dread in her stomach, she examines the clothing that the blonde brought with her. She shoves the garments into the bureau, and makes a mental note to purchase some new pajamas for the skittish woman. "You're going to be safe here," she whispers. "Okay?"

"Okay." Emma blinks back a few tears as she manages to open a small box, holding her blanket and a few other small items. She pulls the blanket out quickly, and tucks it under a pillow, hoping Mary Margaret won't see it. She needs the soft, embroidered bundle, and doesn't want Mary Margaret to take it away, like her foster family did, when she was bad.

Mary Margaret folds the last of Emma's t-shirts and then begins arranging her socks in an empty drawer. When she turns around, she catches sight of the baby blanket and scrutinizes the purple stitching before the blonde can hide it from view. "What's that?" she asks her, taking a step towards the bed.

Emma feels the flush rise on her cheeks, and though she'd looked up briefly at the sound of Mary Margaret's voice, she quickly ducks her head, and chews at her bottom lip. "Nothing," she answers, or means to, though she isn't quite sure if she's done anything more than whine.

With her arms crossed in front of her, Mary Margaret shuffles closer to Emma and glances at the pillow that is concealing the little blanket. She raises an eyebrow at the younger woman and shifts from one foot to the other as her curiosity gets the better of her. "It's a blanket," she confirms. "Why are you trying to hide it from me?"

For the first time since Emma's known Mary Margaret, the other woman makes her feel like a child. _This_ Emma knows, and she feels some of her worry leach away, as she slips into a more comfortable role. With a cautious glance upward, she responds with what she hopes is a great bluff. "I'm not. I like it there."

Mary Margaret feels her neck become stiff as she stares at Emma for what seems like a very long time. She discerns the subtle change in the blonde, and while she finds that confusing, she's more perplexed by her lie. "You don't have to be ashamed," she tells her.

There is a warbling note of sincerity in her voice, and Mary Margaret frowns when Emma next meets her eyes. "I want you to be comfortable here," she breathes. "This is your room. Your space."

After a moment of hesitation, Mary Margaret starts for the door with the intention of giving her a chance to get her bearings. "I'm going to cook dinner," she announces. "The bathroom is downstairs. You can go ahead and freshen up—"

With a shake of her head, Emma refuses to make her way to the bathroom. "I'll do it later," she offers, hoping that Mary Margaret will forget about it. Before the brunette can respond, she hops up and hurries downstairs.

Mary Margaret follows Emma down the steps and into the kitchen. She opens the refrigerator and removes crisp vegetables, which she then dices and drops into a pot. As she cuts chicken into thin strips, she peers over at the blonde and gestures for her to take a seat. "How are you feeling?" she speaks softly, eyeing the bruises on her neck. "Do you want to put some ice on that?"

Emma slides onto one of the bar chairs. "No. I don't want ice." She sighs unhappily at the sight of vegetables, and hopes they're merely for flavor. Propping her feet up on the middle rung of the chair, she pushes off the counter, and begins to twirl herself around. "What. are. you. cooking?" she asks, saying each word on separate spins, when her chair faces Mary Margaret.

Mary Margaret gives her a disapproving look, but she hesitates to stop the blonde's incessant twirling because she's concerned about the reaction that she might elicit from her. Instead, she concentrates on slicing up a zucchini and tossing it into a skillet on the stovetop. She decides that Emma must have an aversion to vegetables, and adjusts her meal plan accordingly. "Chicken fingers," she replies.

After Mary Margaret breads the chicken, she cooks it in a light olive oil and serves it with a side of ketchup. She loads the plate with green veggies, and briefly wonders if she can find some way of making them seem more appetizing.

When they are both sitting side-by-side at the counter, Mary Margaret pours two glasses of juice and then begins to eat. "So," she smiles. "Today is your birthday. Do you have any birthday wishes?"

Emma dunks a chicken finger in a pool of ketchup, then bites it in half. "Sure, but if I tell you, it won't come true." When Mary Margaret isn't looking, she spreads the vegetables around, so that it looks as if she at least tasted the vile fodder.

Mary Margaret chews a forkful of chicken and hums thoughtfully to herself. She's satisfied that Emma is eating, and pleased to see that her heap of vegetables appears to be growing smaller. "Unless it's in my power to make your wish come true," she counters.

The blonde pauses and thinks about her friend's comment. "I never thought of that before," she responds, in awe of Mary Margaret's logic. She pushes a few more veggies into the deliberately too large serving of ketchup, and turns to face the brunette. "Do you really think that would work?"

Mary Margaret nibbles on a piece of zucchini and wonders if Emma is purposefully trying to divert her. After she sets down her utensils, she turns to examine the blonde and realizes that she's taking this seriously: the younger woman seems to believe in the power of birthday wishes. The brunette finds herself wanting to indulge the display of childishness, and because Emma looks so hopeful, she responds without giving it proper reflection. "Yes."

A spectacular grin graces Emma's face at the Mary Margaret's serious tone, and she boldly states, "This morning, I wished I could find my real parents. Oh, and I also wished for Fruit Loops, because they're my favorite." As fast as the smile appeared, it slides away, and she pokes at her food dejectedly. "Neither has happened, yet."

As if she's suddenly remembered that Mary Margaret is magical, she quickly looks up and meets the other woman's eyes. "Can you make those come true?"

It's hard to resist sharing Emma's enthusiasm, and Mary Margaret feels her heart breaking for the other woman, especially when she grins. There's a purity and an innocence about her that remains intact, in spite of all that the blonde experienced at the hands of her abusers.

Mary Margaret stifles the urge to cry, and smiles sadly as she stands up. "I'll do my best," she promises. "But first you need to blow out your candles-"

With her back turned, she lights the candles on top of a frosted vanilla birthday cake. The candles are shaped like stars, and as she pushes each one into the yellowy center of the cake, she makes her own wish: she wants nothing more than to be able to help Emma.

When she places the cake in front of her new friend, Mary Margaret sheds a single tear. "Happy Birthday," she sighs.

* * *

Emma's fairly certain she's never been allowed to indulge in so much cake before. She was doing fine until that third piece, and now...well, maybe next time she'll listen to Mary Margaret when she tells her she shouldn't do something. There's nothing she wants more than to lie down on her bed, and she decides her wish should have been to be magically transported up the stairs. Still, Mary Margaret hasn't said anything about bedtime, and she rarely gets to stay up late. There's no way she's going up there _now._ The other woman might make her stay there.

Instead, she drops her head onto the counter and whines, "I think I'm gonna be sick."

Mary Margaret wraps the cake in tinfoil and stands up to return it to the refrigerator. She debates throwing the offending confectionary in the trash, but she stops deliberating as soon as Emma announces that she's feeling ill. After putting the cake in the fridge, she hurries over to the medicine cabinet and retrieves a bottle of antacids. "Take two of these," she tells the blonde, as she deposits the tablets on the countertop in front of her.

With a quiet sigh, Mary Margaret begins to wash the dishes, and then abandons her chore because Emma looks pale. "You should take a hot shower and then get into bed," she suggests. "I'll get you some fresh towels."

Emma feels her heart begin to hammer in her chest, and tries to sniff back the tears welling in her eyes before looking at the older woman pleadingly. "But I don't feel well... C-can't I do it tomorrow?"

Mary Margaret comes to a standstill before she reaches the linen closet, and then pivots around on her heel. She takes in the sight of Emma's face and slowly retraces her steps.

As she passes into the kitchen, Mary Margaret snatches two tissues from a box that she left out on the top of the pantry. She pulls her stool towards Emma and then sits down so that she can look into her eyes. "Okay," she breathes. "Why don't you get some rest?"

Emma is beginning to hyperventilate when she hears Mary Margaret's chair squeal across the floor. She'd closed her eyes in am attempt to fend off the prior wave of nausea, but now lets them flutter open. The brunette's scrutiny makes her uncomfortable, until the soft voice assures her that she can go straight to bed. Emma exhales sharply, and accepts a tissue as she stands.

Unfortunately, the sudden change in position makes her stomach roil. The blood drains from her face and she feels a cold sweat bead across her body as she dashes to the bathroom, and comes to a skidding halt over the toilet. She drops to her knees, and expels her entire dinner, and birthday cake. Her throat and nose burn, and a stream of tears joins the contents of her stomach. She heaves again, and feels a gentle hand gathering her hair, and holding it back.

Mary Margaret rubs Emma's back as she chokes on bile, and when the woman sinks down on the floor, the brunette circles her arms around her small, shuddering frame. She grabs a clean hand towel from the cabinet and uses the soft material to wipe at the lingering remnants of vomit on the blonde's chin. "Shh," she soothes her. "It will be okay. Please don't cry…"

As she tends to Emma, Mary Margaret comes to the conclusion that she needs to care for her as though she is a child. She must also teach her how to be an adult, but she doesn't want to repeat the mistakes she's already made in regards to the woman's health. "Come on," she murmurs. "Let's get you cleaned up, and into bed..."

Emma is disappointed when Mary Margaret gets up, as it's new experience to be comforted by someone who isn't mocking her, or wants to hurt her, and Emma finds that it makes her feel warm and content. She'd burrowed her head in Mary Margaret's neck, and allowed the woman to rock her gently, while enjoying the murmured words of reassurance.

She thinks they're going up to bed, until the brunette turns on the shower. Emma's panic is instantaneous, and severe, and her instinct is to flee the room. However, the consequences of such disobedience have long since been engrained in her psyche. She also knows better than to fight back, and, therefore, simply curls in on herself with a keening whine, trying to block out all of the terrifying memories of bath time.

Mary Margaret tests the temperature of the water, but as Emma begins to whimper, she leaves the shower to run and sits down beside the cowering woman. She extends her hand with some degree of caution, and touches her gently on the shoulder before drawing her back into her sheltering embrace. "You're frightened," she whispers.

As she brushes the hair away from Emma's face, Mary Margaret realizes the source of her fear. "Did it happen here?" she asks. "Did someone hurt you ... while you were bathing?"

Mary Margaret feels tears roll down her nose and trickle into her mouth. She imagines Emma as a vulnerable little girl, left at the mercy of her foster brother.

When she glances down at her, Mary Margaret sees the abused child staring out through the windows of her wet, green eyes. "Oh, Emma," she sighs. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'll never hurt you..."

Hiccupping violently, Emma turns her face away from Mary Margaret's view, and buries it in the woman's chest. She tries to squirm further into the

brunette's lap, in an attempt to escape the traumatic memories, and feel more secure. The rhythmic rocking begins again, lulling her slowly into a calmer state.

Mary Margaret holds Emma until her breathing becomes steady and even. She feels strangely content when the younger woman curls into her, but she also has the unsettling sense that she is somehow responsible for her pain. "I'm not going to let anyone do that to you," she promises. "It will never happen again."

While she combs her fingers through Emma's messy hair, Mary Margaret presses a light kiss to the top of her head. She continues to sway with her, because the blonde seems to respond to that. "Are you tired?" she murmurs. "Do you want me to take you up to bed?"

Emma sighs softly at the hand in her hair, and closes her eyes. Mary Margaret makes her feel safe, and she has no doubt as to the truthfulness of her promises. She's even, temporarily, forgotten about the shower, and the day that has left her exhausted. She does want to go to bed, and offers a sleepy affirmative to the question.

She washes her face with a damp washcloth, and quickly brushes her teeth at the brunette's bidding, before following her upstairs to her room. She sits down on the bed, and watches as Mary Margaret digs through her drawers for some pajamas.

Mary Margaret frowns as she searches through Emma's collection of negligees. She becomes furious when she thinks about the foster parents who must have purchased the inappropriate sleepwear for her, although she suspects that August must have taken charge of selecting more than one of the sheer nightgowns. "I'll be right back," she huffs, and then hustles down the stairs to her bedroom.

She chooses a lightweight pajama set with a button-down top and matching shorts, and hastens back to Emma with the garments in hand. "I think this will be more comfortable for you," she tells her. "I'll see about getting you some new clothes in the morning..."

Once Emma accepts the gift, Mary Margaret goes out into the hallway and closes the door behind her. She gives her privacy to change, and then returns to her room in order to say goodnight. "If you need anything, come and get me, okay?"

Emma's already under the covers, blanket in hand, when the door opens. She's disappointed when Mary Margaret hovers at the end of the bed, and makes no move to tuck her in or read a story. She wonders if she's done something wrong, but can think of nothing, aside from not showering. But the brunette had seemed fine with that, so there must be something else. She doesn't know what it is, and it makes her anxious again. She pulls her blanket a little tighter, as she turns on her side and responds with a quiet, "'kay."

Mary Margaret places her hands on her hips while she studies Emma's body language and the confusion in her eyes. She spots the first signs of her distress when the blonde tugs at the bedspread and then faces the wall. "Do you... want me to stay with you?" she asks her. "Just until you fall asleep."

Deciding the offer is an acceptable one, Emma nods, but doesn't turn around. She's still uncertain as to whether Mary Margaret is irritated at her, and she nuzzles into her baby blanket in an attempt to soothe herself. She doesn't know how to explain her feelings to the older woman, or articulate what she wants. She sniffles slightly, wondering why everything is suddenly so confusing.

Mary Margaret can tell that Emma needs some form of reassurance. She perches on the edge of the bed and tentatively reaches out to touch her.

While she skims her fingers through golden hair, Mary Margaret tries to pinpoint the immediate cause of Emma's discomfort. "Do you... want me to hold you?" she whispers.

Even though she speaks softly, her voice sounds high-pitched and tinny, because she doesn't understand her own emotions.

Mary Margaret only met the younger woman three weeks ago, and already she's fought to gain custody of her. She's brought Emma into her home, and under the most unlikely circumstances, she's fulfilling a parental role in caring for her.

What is most striking about the situation is that it all comes naturally to the brunette.

She acts on instinct, and begins removing her shoes so that she can fold her legs underneath her body. As she leans against the headboard, she waits for another cue from Emma, and exhales the breath that she realizes she's been holding.

Emma continues snuggling into her blanket, even as she feels Mary Margaret gentle hand untangling her hair. The show of affection is perplexing, given the lack of story and tucking in, but, after a long while, Emma finally decides that she's done nothing wrong. Maybe Mary Margaret just doesn't want to read a story. She exhales softly, and rolls over. Clutching her blanket in one arm, she drops her head in the brunette's lap, and closes her eyes.

Mary Margaret remains by Emma's side until she falls asleep. As soon as she's slumbering soundly, the brunette slips out of bed and heads downstairs to the kitchen, where she pulls out a file folder that is filled with documents from the custody hearing. She reads the caseworker's notes, but the words become a blur when she starts to cry.

The papers are spotted with wet polka dots by the time she puts them aside, and Mary Margaret covers her mouth as she begins to sob. Teardrops zigzag down her cheeks and splatter against the table.

From what she understands, Emma has been abused in more ways than one; while she exhibits above average intelligence, she's unable to function without the care of a guardian. She's been conditioned to behave like a little girl, and her psychological evaluation reveals that she speaks and thinks in the same manner as a six year old child.

The descriptions of the physical abuse are sickening, and cause Mary Margaret's stomach to lurch. There's evidence of sexual trauma, and her patient history is replete with a laundry list of bumps and bruises that were deemed 'accidental' by incompetent healthcare professionals.

Mary Margaret thinks back to how Emma reacted at bedtime, and wonders if the blonde assumed that she was going to hurt her. She finds the thought unbearable, and pushes herself out of her chair.

She stumbles around the kitchen until she regains her composure, and then brews a cup of coffee. As she takes sobering sips of the black mixture, she returns to her reading and reviews the paperwork that describes Emma's pregnancy.

It seems as though Emma wanted to keep the child, even though she lacks the capacity to care for an infant. A consulting doctor recommended termination, but Mayor Mills became involved in the early stages of the pregnancy and offered to adopt the baby.

She finds it troublesome that Regina has known the Darlings for several years, but hasn't previously reported them for their mistreatment of Emma. On the one hand, she's grateful that the mayor spoke out against Mr. and Mrs. Darling during the custody hearing, but she also wonders why she didn't intervene sooner.

Regina maintains that Emma is incompetent, and that was the reason she never detected any foul play.

In certain situations, Mary Margaret knows that Emma is capable of acting like an adult, but since their initial meeting, she's seen a drastic regression in the blonde. She can't account for this change in the younger woman, but she concludes that she will have to make adjustments in how she interacts with her.

Mary Margaret stores the file in her desk drawer and then climbs the stairs to check on Emma. She leans into the doorframe and spins her peridot ring while she watches over the slumbering woman.

* * *

AN: Mr. and Mrs. Darling are Fairytale land characters – Hook and Ursula, respectively. Ties in nicely with the clock theme, and also makes sense, since Emma's essentially been infantilized & can't grow up.

**Kelli Maguire**: Well, in a sense, August is a victim of abuse here, too. In this reality, he's been conditioned to keep Emma 'in line,' so to speak. Figured this would be particularly troublesome because he was supposed to be the one protecting her.

I'd also like to point out that **there is** something in his character that inspires him to misbehave. We can't forget how he tied Jiminy Cricket up and shoved him inside of that cuckoo clock in the episode entitled, "The Stranger."

Emma and August might reconcile when the curse breaks a second time, but for now, the main focus of the story is on Emma and Mary Margaret/Snow.

**7Seven7**: Glad that you're enjoying it. Hope you keep reading!

**SimpleLines**: Happy you like the concept.! Hope you find the events in this chapter to be interesting.

**Guest:** Most of the story will be character-driven rather than plot-driven, focused more so on the mother/daughter relationship than what is happening in the backdrop of Storybrooke. This is a way of exploring how Mary Margaret might have raised Emma, in a way.


	3. String Theory

Our universe is but one of an infinite number of universes, some indistinguishable from this one, others entirely unrecognizable. Most of them are completely inaccessible, unless one happens to be in possession of certain dark curses. However, sometimes even magic isn't enough to travel between worlds, and merely provides a method of obfuscating a prior reality.

Emma is confused when she first wakes in her new surroundings. It takes her a moment to realize that she's in her room at Mary Margaret's apartment. Happily remembering that there's no August to harass her, or foster parents to scold her, she feels secure enough to wander downstairs without her blanket.

It's still dark outside - she always wakes up early - so she sits down on the couch, indian style, to wait for Mary Margaret. She wants to watch cartoons, but isn't sure if the television will wake the brunette. Waking people up too early has never led to anything good. She can only tolerate the boredom for a few minutes, before going back upstairs to get a book.

She reads aloud in a whisper to herself, and is tracing the illustrations with her finger, when she looks up to see Mary Margaret peering down at her. "I'm reading," she explains with a smile.

Mary Margaret rakes her fingers through her fluffy black hair as she sinks down on the couch cushion beside Emma. Her eyelids feel heavy and laden with a crust of dried tears, but she smiles because the blonde seems so pleased with herself. "I see that," she intones. "Do you...want me to read to you?"

As she wonders about the additional supports that the younger woman might require, Mary Margaret reaches for a small blanket that's hanging over the back of a chair and drapes the soft material over Emma's legs. "...or maybe you can read to me," she suggests.

Still disappointed about the missing bedtime story, Emma happily thrusts the book into Mary Margaret's lap. She pulls the blanket up to her chin, and rests her cheek on the brunette's shoulder. "Start over," she insists, pushing the pages back to the beginning.

Mary Margaret cradles the book in her arms and begins to read aloud while Emma settles against her. "Once there was a tree," she recites. "... and she loved a little boy…."

When she finishes reading the story, Mary Margaret closes the book and gently brushes the loose curls away from Emma's face. "Are you hungry?" she asks her. "I'll make you some pancakes while you take your bath. I know it frightens you, but we have a long day ahead of us..."

"No. I don't want to," Emma interrupts, tears falling, as she pulls back from the slightly older woman. The fear is overwhelming, and she begins to panic, scrambling to the far end of the couch as she wails pitifully.

Mary Margaret knows she should have anticipated the reaction that she receives from Emma, but she's unprepared to handle the outburst. She drops the book on the floor and flounders around, desperate to stop her crying. "Emma," she frowns. "I have bubbles. How about we put some bubbles in the tub?"

After she hastily rises up from the couch, Mary Margaret retrieves the colorful bubbles from her medicine cabinet. She holds the container out in front of her to make sure that Emma can see it. "They're magic bubbles," she adds. "They'll keep you safe during bath time. Nothing bad will happen to you, and if you get scared, I'll be right out here in the kitchen..."

The mention of bubbles is enough to ease Emma's hysteria. She sniffs quietly and wipes at her nose with the back of her wrist. She eyes the bubbles suspiciously, then looks at Mary Margaret. "They don't look like magic bubbles," she states. Tears pool in her hazel eyes again, before tumbling down her cheeks.

Mary Margaret takes a measured step towards Emma, but comes to a halt when the blonde expresses her doubts. "That's-" she stutters. "That's because you're not wearing the magic ring."

Without giving it much forethought, she removes her peridot ring and slides the band onto Emma's finger. "This ring is very special to me," she explains. "I've had it for as long as I can remember. I never take it off. Not even in the bath..."

She can't remember who gave her the ring, or why she believes it's a symbol of love. "It will protect you," she breathes. "I'll—protect you."

Emma stares at the magic ring doubtfully, then carefully looks at Mary Margaret and determines that the woman isn't trying to trick her. The ring really is magical, and it makes her feel special that Mary Margaret is sharing it. The bath already seems less scary, so she hesitantly takes the brunette's hand and allows herself to be led into the bathroom.

As the brunette pours the magic bubbles in the running water, Emma shifts nervously from foot to foot. "You'll be right out there? The whole time?" she asks, still needing reassurance that Mary Margaret can save her if the magic ring and bubbles fail.

Mary Margaret places a towel on the rack next to the tub, and then turns towards Emma. "I promise," she says to the younger woman. "I'll be right outside-"

After she departs from the bathroom, Mary Margaret shuts the door behind her and lingers in the hallway. She's nervous that Emma will cry for her, and that she won't be able to hear it. She only moves when she hears Emma splashing around in the tub. When minutes have passed by without incident, she wanders into the kitchen.

While she makes the batter for pancakes, Mary Margaret thinks about her plans for the day. She uses cookie cutters to slice shapes into the pancakes, and smiles down at her work. Each pancake looks like an animal, and she arranges them on a plate as she waits for Emma.

A few moments into her bath, Emma has forgotten that it was ever terrifying. She blows the bubbles around the tub, makes bubble sculptures, and only remembers to wash when she can suddenly see water. Mary Margaret put out jeans and a soft t-shirt for her, which she slips on before hurrying into the kitchen for breakfast. Hopping on to the bar chair, her face crumbles at the sight of her plate, and she cries, "I don't want to eat the bunny!" She pushes the plate away, and thumps her forehead on the counter.

Mary Margaret hastens around the countertop and whisks the plate away before Emma lapses into a full on tantrum. "Okay," she sighs. "Look. We'll put the bunny in the fridge for now. See? It will be happy in there. Maybe it will eat all of those vegetables that you didn't finish last night..."

She gives Emma a sidelong glance as she drops the plate onto the top shelf in the refrigerator, then she spins around and begins to pour the batter for another stack of pancakes. "Here we go," she says, placing a new plate in front of the blonde.

Emma frowns at the vegetables comment, and begins to worry that Mary Margaret is angry at her for not eating them. She thought she'd done a good job making it look like she'd eaten them. She wonders if that's why she didn't get her bedtime story, and begins to fidget. Maybe the brunette is still mad, and is planning to punish her later. She starts to feel sick, and shakes her head when the plate of round pancakes is put in front of her. "I'm not hungry," she mumbles.

Mary Margaret grabs a pitcher of juice and fills a glass to the halfway point. She hands the drink to Emma and then sits down on the stool beside her. "What's wrong?" she asks, even though she knows not to expect a straightforward answer.

She stabs at her owns pancakes and tries to interpret Emma's body language. She wants to become a keen interpreter of her unspoken signals. "You need to eat," she insists. "Otherwise you won't have any energy—"

When Emma seems unconvinced, Mary Margaret adds, "We have a lot to do today. We're going clothes shopping, and I want to stop at the library. We'll pick up some new books…"

While the thought of new books is a pleasing one, Emma isn't sure if the books will even be for _her_. She doesn't think the older woman looks mad, but experience has taught her that she can never be sure. Thinking she can be brave one more time, since she's still wearing the magic ring, she swallows the lump in her throat, and tries to blink back her fearful tears. "Are you m-mad?" she stutters.

Mary Margaret is startled by the question, and she closes her eyes for a brief moment as she draws a quick breath. "No." She delivers her response in a soft, but stern tone of voice. "What gave you that idea?"

She stands up and begins clearing the breakfast dishes, because she finds it difficult to sit still when she's concerned or anxious. She abruptly comes to a stop when she realizes that her actions might upset or frighten Emma.

As she leans into the countertop, she releases the sponge she's been holding tightly in her grasp. "Emma," she frowns, "I need you to listen to me. No matter what you do, I won't _ever_ hurt you."

The brunette takes another gasping breath and her eyes prickle with the beginnings of tears because she senses Emma's fear. "I'm sorry if I've done anything to frighten you," she croaks, "or to make you think that I'm angry—"

Mary Margaret returns to her seat and faces the younger woman. "I'm not mad at you," she whispers.

"Promise?" Emma requests, peering through damp lashes. When Mary Margaret nods through tears that make no sense to the blonde, she responds with a quiet, "Okay." She spins her seat around, when Mary Margaret releases it, and picks up her fork to eat her pancakes.

She's silent for a moment, watching Mary Margaret curiously as the woman scrubs invisible grime from the dishes - Emma thinks that even _she_ can see they're clean. Then, the prior incident forgotten, she asks another burning question. "Can I watch cartoons?"

Mary Margaret's answer is to flip the knob on the television set and change the channel until cartoon characters are hopping across the screen. When the dishes are spotless and stored away in their respective cabinets, she glances over her shoulder at Emma. "I'm going to take a shower," she tells her. "Will you be okay watching cartoons here by yourself?"

Emma nods from her position curled up on the couch, then suddenly remembers she's still wearing Mary Margaret's magic ring. Worried that something might happen to the brunette, she leaps up and runs to catch her, sliding to a stop in the hallway in front of the startled woman.

"Wait," she breathes.

Mary Margaret tilts her head patiently, and watches with curiosity as Emma takes her hand.

The blonde tugs the ring from her finger, and drops it in her upturned palm. "You need this." Without waiting for a response, she hurries back to the couch to continue watching her show.

Mary Margaret slips the ring onto her finger and then wanders towards her bedroom. She gathers up a bundle of clean clothes, but just as she's about to head into the bathroom, she hesitates and stares down at the gem on her finger.

Her feet take over, and she finds herself walking back towards the couch and perching on the edge of the coffee table. "I want you to hold onto this for now," she tells Emma, as she pushes the ring back onto her finger. "When you start to feel safe here, you can give it back to me, and I'll know..."

The brunette's voice tapers off and then she's standing and strolling over to the bathroom. She spends less time in the shower than she typically does on a Saturday morning, but when she appears in the doorway, she notices that Emma's cartoons have ended. "Are you ready to go?" she asks the younger woman.

"Yes," the blonde confirms, thrilled to be going out somewhere, especially with Mary Margaret.

* * *

Emma collapses into the backseat of the car, and pulls on her seatbelt. She's quite sure she's never been so tired in her life, and decides that shopping isn't fun, at all. She still doesn't understand why she couldn't have red pants to go with all her red shirts, but finally agreed to the black leggings and jeans when Mary Margaret promised her a milkshake. She quickly gets out when the car stops, and grabs the brunette's hand as they cross the street. "I get a milkshake, right, Mary Margaret?" she asks, wanting confirmation one more time.

Mary Margaret nods when the blonde asks her about the milkshake for the seventh time. "Yes." She inhales a quick breath as the repeats the promise. "Any flavor you want."

Townspeople stop on the sidewalk and gawk at the pair as they make their way towards the diner. Mary Margaret smiles cheerfully at them until they either glance away or smile at Emma. "Nice day, isn't it?" she asks them, for no other reason than to ensure that they look back at her. She wants them to see the unspoken warning that only her eyes can transmit.

Mary Margaret holds the door for Emma, and then leads her to a booth where she settles down in the seat across from her. She tilts her head sideways as Ruby approaches their table with two menus and silverware wrapped in paper napkins. "This is my friend," she announces, watching how Emma interacts with the taller brunette. "Her name is Ruby."

When she hired a lawyer to handle the legalities surrounding the custodianship of Emma, Mary Margaret confided in Ruby and told her about the blonde's particular needs.

As she leans forward to greet Emma, Ruby places a pack of crayons and a coloring mat next to her silverware. She wears too much lipstick and too much blush, but she's also wearing a big grin.

"Whoa!" exclaims the blonde, gaping at Ruby. "You have red in your hair! Red is my favorite color!" Her eyes suddenly go wide, and she turns to Mary Margaret. "Mary Margaret, can I get-"

Mary Margaret blinks at Emma and rapidly determines that she's going ask about altering the color of her hair. "No!" she hastily responds.

Ruby laughs at the look of alarm on Mary Margaret's face.

To keep Emma distracted, Mary Margaret begins unraveling her napkin and places it in her lap. "Are you ready for your milkshake?" she asks, and then turns to Ruby. "Strawberry for her. I'll have coffee..."

Ruby jots down their order: one strawberry milkshake, black coffee, and two grilled sandwiches. Mary Margaret allows Emma to have french fries with her meal, but she also orders a cooked vegetable in the hopes of bribing her to eat it.

Emma contentedly colors the menagerie of forest animals on her activity sheet until her food arrives. She goes for the french fries and milkshake first, and again spreads the vegetables around when she thinks Mary Margaret isn't looking.

She thinks a chocolate milkshake would have tasted a little better, but she likes that the strawberry one is red, and comes with a strawberry on top. She eats the strawberry first, then slurps the shake through a straw.

She glances up at Mary Margaret, who's watching her quietly, and she tilts her head as she looks at the brunette's plate. "Don't you like french fries?" she asks.

Mary Margaret takes a bite out of her grilled cheese sandwich and then concentrates on sipping her coffee. She notices that Emma's carrots are now swimming in ketchup, and she's already plotting clever ways to incorporate vegetables into future meals.

As it becomes apparent that the blonde is staring at her plate, Mary Margaret glances down at her unfinished fries. "You know what?" she asks, inwardly congratulating herself on her own genius. "I prefer the carrots..."

To set a good example, the brunette stabs a carrot with her fork and lifts it to her mouth. She chews slowly and then swallows the orange mush. "Why don't you try some?" she suggests.

Emma shakes her head, "No. I don't like carrots. I already tried some, see?" She points to her plate, which appears to have fewer carrots than she started with. She then picks up another fry and swirls it in ketchup.

Mary Margaret suspects that Emma would fling her carrots under the table or hide them in her pockets before she'd resort to eating them. She looks down at the younger woman's plate and then steals a furtive glance at the floor, searching for the missing vegetables. "Why don't you eat two more carrots and two more bites of your grilled cheese?" she suggests. "Then we can go to the library and we'll get you some new books. I'll read you two bedtime stories for every carrot you eat... "

The blonde head snaps up at the mention of bedtime stories. "Really? You'll read me a story this time?" she asks quietly, again wondering about the link between vegetables and her missing story, even though she knows Mary Margaret really wasn't angry.

As Mary Margaret becomes aware of the weight and meaning that Emma assigns to bedtime stories, she frowns and gestures for Ruby to bring the check. "I'll read you a story every night," she promises. "But it's important for you to eat your vegetables..."

Mary Margaret is quickly running out of persuasive tactics and tricks to use with Emma. "It would make me very happy," she adds.

Certainly wanting her friend to be happy, Emma picks up two carrots and shoves them in her mouth. She gnashes them with her back teeth, so they don't touch her tongue, wishing she'd chosen the ones drenched in ketchup. A huge gulp of her milkshake washes the offensive taste away.

Warmed by Mary Margaret's pleased smile, she's suddenly quite proud of herself. "All done. That's four stories," she reminds the brunette, not forgetting the earlier promise.

Mary Margaret is beaming when Ruby strolls over to collect the bills that she's left out on the table. She feels that this is a small triumph for Emma, and she wants to celebrate accordingly. "Four stories," she agrees.

As they depart from the diner, Mary Margaret takes the younger woman's hand and leads her up the street towards the library. She greets the man at the information desk with a cordial smile, and then ushers Emma into the children's section.

When Emma appears to hesitate, Mary Margaret approaches a long shelf and selects a book with a pink cover. "How about this?" she asks the blonde. "It's about a princess..."

Despite her growing comfort with Mary Margaret, Emma is suddenly overwhelmed and timid. She's never been allowed to pick out her own books. She stuffs her hands in her pockets, and offers a tiny shrug.

Mary Margaret is baffled by Emma's behavior. She slides the book back onto the shelf and picks out a story with an appealing front cover and detailed illustrations. After she chooses a dozen picture books, she moves over to a display with paperback novels for young adults. She adds two chapter books to her pile, and then glances down at the reading material.

When Emma begins to look frightened, Mary Margaret takes her towards an oversized couch that sits along the back wall of the library. There are toys and blocks scattered around on the floor, but there's no one around to interrupt them. She sinks down on the sofa and pats the seat next to her. "I think we have time for a quick story," she says. "Would you like that?"

Emma responds by falling onto the couch and plastering herself to Mary Margaret's side. She doesn't understand her emotions - they're suddenly too complex - but needs the reassuring contact from the brunette.

Mary Margaret feels heartsick as she loops her arm around Emma. She flips the book open to the first page and begins reading when the blonde curls into her warmth.

Emma ends up paying little attention to the words Mary Margaret reads, instead concentrating on her voice. She decides she likes Mary Margaret's voice. It's always gentle. Her foster mother's voice hadn't been that way. Her voice had hurt Emma.

When Mary Margaret finishes the story and hugs her a little tighter, Emma exhales softly.

Mary Margaret sits with Emma until she seems more at ease.

By then, a swarm of small children invade their reading nook. The brunette clutches Emma's hand firmly in her own and heads for the reference desk, where the librarian scans their books.

After they leave the library, Mary Margaret marches down the fairway and moves in the direction of her car. "We need go to the grocery store," she tells Emma. "Then we'll go home—"

* * *

As she's been conditioned to do, Emma wraps her hand around the smooth wire of the side of the grocery cart.

"We wouldn't want you to get lost," Mrs. Darling had explained.

Her first foster mother had spent much less time in the produce section than Mary Margaret. Emma watches in horror as the brunette drops vegetable after vegetable in the basket. There are bright red tomatoes, yellow squash, green peppers, and a host of other rainbow colored, nausea inducing rabbit food that she can't identify. She wonders who's going to eat all of it, and hopes it's not her.

Her spirits lift when strawberries and cubed watermelon are added to the growing pile, and she thinks that Mary Margaret must be magic to know what she likes without asking.

Mary Margaret refers to her list as she wheels the cart up the aisle. She pauses to inspect a head of lettuce and frowns at the browning spots around the leafy edges.

Sensing that Emma's eyes are riveted to her, Mary Margaret glances up from her task and smiles at blonde. "Do you want to be my helper?" she asks her. "We need Fruit Loops and Laundry Detergent."

"Really? I can get Fruit Loops?" She chews her bottom lip nervously as Mary Margaret hums her confirmation. "What if...what if I get lost?" Emma whispers with a frown.

Mary Margaret is gathering the ingredients for homemade salad dressing when Emma expresses her doubts about locating the Fruit Loops by herself. The brunette drops an armload of supplies into their basket and then turns to look at the younger woman. "You'll be okay," she promises her, using a soft and reassuring tone. "... if you get lost, I'll... _find you_. Understand?"

Still unsure, but bolstered by Mary Margaret's promise to find her, Emma nods and hesitantly wanders away from the produce. She stops at the end of the wall of vegetables, and peers cautiously around the corner. She glances back at Mary Margaret once more before walking off.

She's able to read the labels on the aisles, and locates the cereal. She cleverly snags three boxes of Fruit Loops since Mary Margaret didn't tell her how many to get. She holds them tight and searches for the detergent. It's on the bottom shelf, so she sits on her knees as she tries to figure out which one to pick.

She finally decides on the container of Tide since it's red. She slides it off the shelf and spins on her knees to find her cereal boxes. As she does, she turns into a long, lean leg. Emma frowns, and cants her head back to look up.

Regina looms above Emma with a sneer on her face and a basket hooked under her arm. In her high heels and tailored skirt, she looks statuesque and menacing. "Well, my dear," she addresses the blonde. "You must be _very_ happy. I see that your new guardian is indulging you." She kicks a box of her sugary cereal for emphasis. "Speaking of Ms. Blanchard, where is she? Why has she allowed you to wander on your own?"

Skittering backwards on her bottom to put distance between herself and the Mayor, Emma's bottom lip trembles, and silent tears stream down her face. She's terrified of the woman, and wants Mary Margaret.

Regina restrains a smile when Emma tries to retreat from her, but she closes the gap between them in one measured stride. "You'd better go find her," she muses. "I'm sure she's going to punish you... She'll put you back into the Boo box, and leave you there..."

Emma shakes her head violently, and begins to cry more forcefully. She doesn't how to find Mary Margaret. Her path is blocked the mayor, and she's too intimidated to move. "I don't know where she is," the blonde weeps.

Regina persists in terrorizing Emma, even as the blonde cowers in her shadow. "Well, then, it looks like you'll be sleeping in the Boo box tonight," she snickers. "I suggest that you act your age, or she'll get tired of you. She might even send you back to live with the Darlings. I'm certain that August is missing you..."

"Noooo!" Emma wails sorrowfully, pressing back against the wall. She turns her head away from her tormentor in the hope that she'll go away.

Mary Margaret comes to an abrupt standstill in the dairy aisle and nearly drops her carton of eggs. Her heart flutters when she hears the loud cries. She abandons her cart and rushes in the direction of the cleaning supplies, where she knows she will find the blonde.

Before she reaches the aisle, Mary Margaret's maternal instincts alert her to Emma's extreme distress. She pushes past Regina and gathers the younger woman in her arms. "What happened?" she asks her, and then turns her attention to the mayor. "What did you say to her?"

Regina narrows her eyes on Mary Margaret, and her burning hostility cools to icy indifference. "I told her that she needed to find you," she insists. "It seems that she was lost."

After scrabbling into Mary Margaret's lap, and wrapping her in a constricting hug, Emma continues to whimper. She feels Mary Margaret stroking the back of her head, and is relieved that the brunette has rescued her once again. She's oblivious to the conversation taking place between the two other women, only aware of the security of Mary Margaret's arms.

Mary Margaret whispers soothing words to Emma, but they are both covered in her hot tears by the time that Regina departs. "I'm here," she tells the blonde. "Shh, I found you. Don't cry."

As she tries to console Emma, Mary Margaret watches the other shoppers and frowns when they stop to stare at the sobbing young woman. "Tell me what happened," she murmurs. "Tell me why you're so upset..."

Unwilling to incur more of Regina Mills' wrath, Emma shakes her head, and manages a single word. "Home," she pleads.

* * *

Mary Margaret stands at the window with a patchwork quilt draped over her arm.

Tonight the moon is like the luminous face of a clock, and she thinks that she hears the faint ticking when she turns away and moves towards the bed.

Emma is already snuggled under her blankets, and with her head nestled against the pillow, she looks small and sleepy. She's been quiet all evening, and refused to eat dinner until Mary Margaret offered her a bowl of Fruit Loops.

She's still quiet when the brunette reaches for the storybooks she borrowed from the library and sinks down onto the bed.

Emma watches as Mary Margaret settles on the bed. When the older woman holds her arm out in invitation, Emma is overcome with emotion. She blinks away her sudden tears as she scootches up off the pillow and wraps herself around the brunette's side. She shifts to get comfortable. As she does, she drags her baby blanket out from under the sheets, pulling it to her chin.

Mary Margaret holds a hardcover copy of a picture book. She runs her hands over the smooth white pages while she reads aloud to Emma, but the nerve endings in her fingertips feel numb. "... you are special because you're mine," she drawls. " ... that's why you matter to me."

As Mary Margaret turns another page, Emma burrows under the blankets and stops fidgeting. "... the more you trust my love," the brunette sighs. "the less you care about... the stickers. You've got a lot of marks. For now, just come to see me every day and let me remind you how much I care... "

When she closes the book, a tear slides down Mary Margaret's cheek. "Emma," she mutters.

She feels as though she is on the verge of an epiphany, but as she stares out across the room, the feeling fades. Emma takes the book from her, and begins to look at the illustrations. "Did you like that story?" she asks her.

The blonde head nods, and she points to the little wooden boy. "The puppet is sad," she mumbles.

With stress lines forming above her eyebrow, Mary Margaret turns towards Emma and glances down at the image. "Why do you think that the puppet is sad?" she murmurs.

Emma frowns at the question, and flips the page to examine another picture of the puppet. "He hurts," she says, tracing her finger around the edges of the illustration.

Mary Margaret blinks curiously and lowers her eyes. She recognizes that Emma is expressing herself through the medium of the story, and that the younger woman can relate to the puppet boy. "Why?" she asks. "Why… does he hurt?"

"Because everyone is mean to him," Emma explains. She hugs her blanket a little tighter.

Mary Margaret feels tense, but she takes the book from Emma and sets it down on the nightstand. She cradles the younger woman in her arms and rocks her gently. "What about the woodcarver?" she whispers. "He loved the puppet boy."

Emma shakes her head. "He made him go away," she yawns, as the brunette's rocking begins to lull her to sleep.

Mary Margaret pushes a tendril of blonde hair away from Emma's face and then presses a light kiss to the top of her head. "... Emma," she breathes. "I hope you know that I would never send you away. I—I love you." Her face registers her own confusion as soon as she's spoken the heartfelt words, but she feels content when she looks down at Emma.

Emma immediately pushes back from Mary Margaret so she can see her face. "You do?" She blinks, awed by the confession. Then, canting her head to the side, she looks at the older woman through inquisitive eyes. "Why?"

A steady rain begins to fall and the wind knocks against the glass windowpane in the bedroom as Mary Margaret sits up. "Because…" she tells Emma. "We're… a family now."

Contentedly snuggling up to Mary Margaret once more, Emma's heart thumps warmly. She drapes an arm across the older woman and noses into her side affectionately.

A crackle of thunder draws them closer together, and Mary Margaret begins to read from another book while Emma dozes peacefully.

When Emma is sound asleep and the storm begins to subside, Mary Margaret disentangles herself from the bed. She covers the slumbering blonde with a second quilt, and then reaches for the bundle of wool that is twisted around her neck.

As she holds the baby blanket, Mary Margaret envisions an infant with little, wrinkled hands and a scrunched up face. For a fleeting instant, she knows that the child belongs to her, and that she is a mother. She feels a great sense of fulfillment until the memory becomes clouded and dim.

After she tucks the blanket into the crook of Emma's arm, Mary Margaret leans down to kiss the crown of her golden head. She then turns off the light and leaves the room.

* * *

**AN**: Thank you for the reviews. ;)

This piece is being co-authored by myself and another writer. So, when we use the plural "we" in our responses to your reviews, that's why. Felt we should probably mention that.

A note on the "**boo box**" - this is a reference to the movie "Hook," and it will be explained in the next chapter.

Mary Margaret reads aloud from two books in this chapter: _The Giving Tree _by Shel Silverstein, and _You are Special_ by Max Lucado.

**An added note about Regina: **She's desperate at this point. She's come to the realization that she's powerless to stop fate, even though she thought that she had figured out a clever solution that would keep Emma away from Storybrooke forever. She's cruel to Emma in this chapter because she realizes what is at stake: Henry, and her own life.

_To be clear_, Regina didn't and wouldn't condone abuse. That's the opinion of the writers of this story, because the Evil Queen has _experienced_ abuse. She's using empty threats to keep Emma in line, while she figures out a new plan. All will be explained when we get scenes that cover her perspective. We skipped a portion of the content, but we'll eventually get some Gold/Regina scenes in here...

**Kelli Maguire**: We will always reply to your questions/comments!

Emma and August were in a difficult situation. They were both trained to behave a certain way, and if August didn't comply with his foster parents or Emma happened to misbehave, he suffered for it. We'll explore that later.

We want to update this at least once a week. Hopefully we'll keep up the momentum.

**Temo**: MM is basically going to have to figure out how to juggle being a single mother. You'll see more on that in the upcoming chapters.

Yes, in this version of events, August is Henry's father. While we're pretty sure that canon won't go that route, there is evidence to suggest that Emma and August interacted in another setting, outside of Fairytale land and _after_ he abandoned her in the group home. It's a minor detail that would probably go unnoticed by most, but he and Emma wear the same bracelets. They're black strands of rope, with tiny glass beads. You can see the bracelet on August's wrist during the diner scene in the episode 7:15 AM. Later in that same episode, you can see the bracelet on Emma as she reaches out to comfort Mary Margaret. So, there is a _slim_ chance for him to be the father...

**7Seven7**: So glad that you're enjoying the story. Yes, poor Emma – but MM will help her.

**AnneRG**: We're glad that you're looking forward to more. Lots to come! ;)

**SimpleLines**: The MM/Emma bond is our favorite part of the show, too. It's going to be a difficult process for MM to work with Emma, but it should remain interesting…

That's what we're hoping, anyway.

**Guest**: I'm happy that it seems realistic. That's pretty important to us, especially because we're bringing in other fairytale land characters to explain the changing of events. It is sad, but we hope to bring MM and Emma together in a way that would never be possible under the circumstances..

**LittleRedRidingVanz**: Thank you so much! That's quite a nice thing to say.

I assure you that we won't stop writing until the story is finished. One good thing about co-authoring this piece is that we can motivate each other to get our work done. This is especially useful because we're both prone to awful bouts of writer's block.


	4. Dark Matter

Warnings: Mentions abuse.

* * *

A nearly invisible web floats in cosmic oblivion. Its stringy filaments support all that can be seen, and all that cannot. It makes up the majority of matter in the universe, influencing planets and galaxies, and the fabric of space-time. It is, in fact, the core of the universe's being. Its properties are nebulous, determined only by the effects on visible matter.

Emma is controlled by the darkest parts of her mind. Memories of abuse, pain, and anger keep her frozen in time. Some of them she's blocked out, others she can remember…

She was eight when she experienced the Boo Box for the first time.

She'd insisted that she wasn't six. Everyone else got older, and Emma was certain that she was getting older, too. Her mother had yelled, her father had cursed, and she'd been forced to sit on her hands and watch the clock tick for hours.

August was angry that night. He assaulted her during bath time, and then dragged her out to the apartment balcony.

"Get in," he'd growled, throwing open the lid to the ornamental trunk belonging to their father.

She shook her head and tried to crawl back inside, but he was bigger, and had grabbed her legs to pull her back, before picking her up by her waist and forcing her in.

He had slammed the lid shut and cursed at her, leaving her there for the night.

She'd kicked and pounded and clawed at the inside, until she'd left bloodied streaks on the paneling. When she'd finally exhausted herself, she'd sobbed uncontrollably for the remainder of the night, as the rain pelted the hollow wood, and the wind buffeted her small prison.

She'd been a sniveling mess of bodily fluids when August had returned, sometime after the sun rose, to retrieve her. He was in a better mood by then, and had soothed her with baby talk as he cleaned her up and put her to bed. It was a long time before she forgot to be six again.

It had taken all three members of her foster family to get her in the Boo Box after the incident at the aquarium. They'd made sure to wait for a night it was storming. She hadn't made it easy for them, kicking, squirming - even managing to sink her teeth into August at one point - before one of them had grabbed her by the neck and squeezed. She'd stilled then, the fight gone from her.

August had berated her after the lid was closed, and threatened to push the box over the edge of the balcony. She'd believed him, of course, and was quickly reduced to a blubbering six year old the moment he gave the Boo Box a good rock. Still, he'd left her to suffer and wail all night.

She'd been no better off this time around, and he'd had to clean her up, and settle her down. When she was calm, he'd given her the baby blanket, and he was pleased to see that she was compliant once again, even shoving her thumb in her mouth for several days afterwards, which she hadn't done since she was three.

In her dreams she's always six. Six is safe, and six is self-preservation.

This time, it's Mayor Mills putting her in the box, and the woman lifts her with ease, before dropping her in. Her scream is silent, and her magic ring is gone. She can only cry as she listens to the woman's harsh cackle. She tries to scream again, her breath catching. It's enough to wake her up, and she hugs her blanket tightly before remembering that Mary Margaret is downstairs, and promised to protect her. She hates the dark, but the light from the lower level illuminates the room and stairway enough that she can run. She stops in the brunette's doorway and wonders what to do.

Afraid to wake the woman up, she slides down the wall, pulling her knees to her chest. Her heart fearfully, painfully, thuds, and she nuzzles into her blanket as she slips her thumb in her mouth.

Mary Margaret stirs when she hears the sound of frantic footfalls on the wood flooring. She throws back her blanket and hurries towards the source of the noise. "Emma," she frowns. "It's the middle of the night... "

As soon as her bleary eyes focus on the blonde, Mary Margaret notices that she is sucking on her finger. At first, she is too startled to react, but as she recovers from her initial shock, she crouches in front of Emma. "Sweetheart," she whispers. "Did you have a bad dream?"

Blinking slowly at the older woman, Emma nods, as a fresh bout of tears slide down her cheeks. With her blanket in hand, she silently reaches out for an embrace.

Mary Margaret stretches out her hand and sweeps the golden hair away from Emma's shoulders. She then uses the sleeve of her own nightshirt to dab the younger woman's tears while she searches her empty eyes for a glimmer or spark of emotion. Emma reminds her of a baby doll with long lashes, pretty curls and stiff limbs.

As she draws Emma into her arms, Mary Margaret feels that her skin is cold and her knees are shaking. "You're freezing," she murmurs. "Let's get you into bed…"

Mary Margaret ushers Emma into her own bedroom, and once the blonde is situated underneath a pile of thick blankets, she curls up beside her. "Try to sleep," she suggests. "I'll be right here. No one can hurt you…"

The brunette holds the trembling woman while she sucks on her thumb and buries her cheek in the knitted blanket that bears her name. She rocks her gently and kisses her damp forehead. "No more nightmares," she mutters. "Only sweet dreams…"

Awash in whispered reassurances and quiet shushes, Emma's terror fades. Her eyes become heavy from Mary Margaret's gentle swaying, and she falls into a restless, but dreamless, sleep.

She's still snug in the brunette's protective embrace when she wakes. She shifts carefully to get more comfortable, and then wraps her free arm around Mary Margaret's waist. The other woman's scent is comforting, and Emma dozes peacefully.

Mary Margaret is roused from her nap when Emma begins to move. She peeps over at the alarm clock to check the hour, and estimates that she's been asleep for little more than forty-five minutes. Her face is still buried in her pillow, and when she groans quietly, the noise is muffled by thick fabric and cotton.

She tries to remember a time when she felt so sleep deprived, and while she knows this isn't a new experience, she can't recall the reasons for her previous sleep disturbances. She doesn't begrudge Emma for waking her up, but she senses that the younger woman has been the cause of her worry for much longer than she's even known her.

As Mary Margaret nestles closer to Emma, her thoughts are filtered from her mind and she forgets her deeply complicated considerations. "Emma," she mutters. "Are you okay?"

Emma's heart flutters when Mary Margaret holds her a little closer, and she finds herself wishing that Mary Margaret were her real mom. The thought is accompanied by an image of the two of them on the brunette's bed, as the other woman folds laundry, and Emma is surprised to see herself as _not_ six. It startles her awake, but not before her mind can block the idea as quickly as it came.

Still resting on Mary Margaret's shoulder, Emma responds softly. "I'm hungry. Can we have breakfast now?"

Mary Margaret kisses Emma's soft curls, and then eases up from the bed. "Of course," she whispers. "What would you like to eat?"

As she strolls into the kitchen with Emma trailing after her, Mary Margaret hears a knock at the door. She combs her hair with her fingers and then hurries over to greet their visitor.

David waits patiently for Mary Margaret, and removes his cap when she comes into view. He holds a bag of bagels underneath one arm, and wears a cordial smile. "I've been trying to get in touch with you all week," he tells her. "Is... this Emma?"

When Mary Margaret introduces him and then invites him to stay for breakfast, David hangs his coat on the rack beside the door. He sets the table while she cooks scrambled eggs and diced potatoes.

Still skittish from her nightmare, Emma reluctantly retreats to the sofa while David and Mary Margaret bustle around the kitchen. Given a choice, she'd hover in the brunette's personal bubble all morning, but the newcomer makes her too nervous. Instead, she hugs her blanket silently and waits to be called to the table.

With his brow knitted in confusion, David watches Emma scurry across the room and intern herself on the couch. He glances at Mary Margaret and gives her a questioning look while she prepares the hot chocolate.

Mary Margaret scoops eggs onto a plate for Emma and then calls her over to the table. She sits in the chair between David and the blonde, and smiles at them both when she sets down her mug. "David works at an animal shelter," she tells Emma. "Maybe I'll take you there some day. You could play with the kittens..."

David butters a pumpernickel bagel and takes a bite. His eyes are still riveted to Emma, because he is baffled by her behavior and the feelings that are threatening to overwhelm him. He manages to remain calm and composed, but he also seems far away until the moment that he clears his throat and speaks. "You... look familiar," he says, while frowning at Emma. "Have we met before?"

Emma is startled by his voice, and, despite her trust in Mary Margaret, David frightens her. She anxiously twists the end of her blanket under the table. Shaking her head faintly in response to his question, she looks at Mary Margaret. "I don't want eggs," she says.

Mary Margaret senses the mounting tension between Emma and David, but she is determined to ensure that they have positive interactions. It's not only because David is her best friend, but also because she feels that Emma could benefit from being around another person who has no intention of hurting her.

With a tight smile, Mary Margaret rises from the table and goes to the cabinet and retrieves the box of Fruit loops. "Do you want cereal?" she asks Emma.

David munches on his bagel, but he locks eyes with Mary Margaret at his first available chance. He slips a hand onto her shoulder as soon as she sits down, because he wants her to know that he supports her. "Fruit loops," he grins. "That's my favorite cereal, too."

Emma's mood shifts in a matter of seconds. She glares at David and the possessive hand on Mary Margaret's shoulder. She drops her blanket, and uses both hands to push the cereal bowl away, causing it to screech across the table. "I don't want Fruit Loops," she complains, sulking in her chair.

David stares openly at the woman who is acting like a child. When Mary Margaret grabs the bowl to keep it from tipping over, he directs his eyes downward and peers at his plate.

Mary Margaret picks up the baby blanket and holds the bundle of wool in her lap. At a loss for what to do, she turns to Emma and reaches out to her. "Come here," she requests.

As soon as she saw Mary Margaret pick up the blanket, Emma knew she was in trouble. Heart thumping, she wonders what she can do to earn it back. The brunette's voice pulls her from her racing thoughts, and, as soft as the request is, Emma easily detects the undercurrent of command. She's already crying, and David is forgotten. She falls on her knees in front of the other woman, and puts her head in her lap. "I'm sorry," she offers. "Please don't take my blanket." Her voice is desperate and pleading, and she reaches up to frantically pluck at a fraying end.

Mary Margaret is alarmed by Emma's assumption and by the panic in her brimming, tearful eyes. "I won't ever take your blanket away from you," she assures her. "It was on the floor…"

Her fingers shake as she gives Emma the blanket, and when she pulls the blonde onto her lap. She gathers the younger woman in her arms and tries to console her. "I'm not angry at you," she explains. "If you aren't hungry, I'm not going to force you to eat…"

Overcome by a maelstrom of emotion, Emma clings to her blanket, and tucks her head in the crook of Mary Margaret's neck. The only evidence of her silent tears is her small, trembling form. She allows the older woman to soothe her, and then mumbles quietly, "I am hungry. I want peanut butter and jelly."

Mary Margaret waits until Emma stops shaking and then gets up to find the jars of peanut butter and jelly. She uses a knife to spread the grape jam and slices the crust from the bread.

After she places the sandwich in front of Emma, Mary Margaret eases back into her chair and glances over at their guest. "David," she addresses him. "I... um-"

David leans backwards in his seat and braces his hands on the table. He stops Mary Margaret with a gesture, to keep her from apologizing. "I should get going," he says. "If you want to bring Emma down to the animal shelter later, I'll be working until five…"

Emma chews her sandwich as she watches Mary Margaret escort her friend to the door. Her hazel eyes narrow at the couple when David plants a kiss on the older woman's cheek, and Emma decides that she doesn't like the man at all.

By the time the door closes, the blonde has inhaled her sandwich. Still hungry, she reaches for the bowl of Fruit Loops, and digs in. She hears Mary Margaret approaching, but doesn't dare to look at her.

With her arms crossed in front of her chest, Mary Margaret gawks at Emma and watches her devour the cereal. She returns to the table and sips the remainder of her cold cocoa. "What would you like to do today?" she asks.

"I don't know," the younger woman responds with a mouth full of cereal. As she considers whether she should drink the milk from the bowl, she continues. "Why did David have breakfast with us?"

Mary Margaret frowns and runs her finger around the rim of her empty mug. "He's a good friend," she murmurs thoughtfully. "Do you...want to tell me about your dream? We didn't get the chance to talk…"

Against her will, memories of the Boo Box assault Emma's senses. She jerks her blanket up to her face, gasping, as she drowns in fear. Her eyes slam shut and her thumb slips into her mouth in an attempt to soothe herself. She shakes her head frantically, and speaks around her finger. "I'm six."

Mary Margaret stands up, collects Emma and then moves them both to the couch. She sits down with the younger woman and holds her while she reverts into a state of childlike dependency. "Why…?" she whispers. "Why are you six?"

Secure in Mary Margaret's arms, Emma tucks her head under the other woman's chin. She pulls her thumb from her mouth, and wraps her arm around the brunette. "Because I want to be six," she explains.

The declaration is nothing short of baffling, and Mary Margaret waits in stunned anticipation for a clarification that never comes. Her face is a mask of concentration, and her eyebrows shoot inward as her lips twitch to form words. "But... why?" she manages to ask.

Suddenly feeling sick, Emma fists her hand in Mary Margaret's robe. She doesn't know how to explain, she's never_had_ to explain, and in her current state of mind, she can only offer a child's response. "I don't want to be bad anymore."

As her emotions tread back and forth between the boundaries that exist between anger and sorrow, Mary Margaret pulls Emma closer. She is furious with the family that mistreated the young woman, and she feels an awful sense of guilt and responsibility when she thinks about the blonde's regressive behaviors. "You were never bad," she insists. "Your foster family used that as an excuse to hurt you. Nothing was your fault."

Mary Margaret comes to a pause and seeks to make eye contact with her. She recognizes the glazed confusion in her eyes and wonders how she can convey her thoughts in a way that Emma will understand. "You are here to become what you were always meant to be," she tells her. "That means you're going to grow up, and _no one_ will hurt you because of it."

* * *

Seated in the corner of a small play area, Emma laughs in delight as a pack of rambunctious puppies bound across her lap. She puts her hands out to protect herself from their needle sharp teeth that snap dangerously close to her ear. One manages to grab her hair, and she yelps before gently prying her hair from its mouth. She pulls it up to her face, nose to nose, and peers at it carefully. It's a furry ball of wiggles, and its tail beats rapidly on her arm. The puppy happily flicks out its tongue to swipe her nose, before nipping her. "This one," she says, looking up at Mary Margaret. "I want this one."

The shelter is empty, and only the barks of the energetic pups can be heard over the sound of Mary Margaret's stuttering words. "We—don't have enough space for a puppy," she frowns. "He needs a yard so he can run around. I'm sorry, Emma—"

From his place at the counter, David watches Mary Margaret and Emma as they play with the mixed breed puppies. He then goes about his regular work, filling dishes with food and water for the animals, and cleaning their enclosures.

Emma's face slowly crumbles in despair. She nuzzles into the squirming puppy's fur. "But I love him," she states, "and he loves me." Still holding the puppy close, she turns her back to Mary Margaret, and faces the wall.

Mary Margaret goes stiff as Emma spins away from her, and she inhales sharply as the younger woman offers a heartrending reason to keep the puppy.

If she owned a home with a backyard, Mary Margaret knows that she would immediately sign the papers to adopt the pup, in spite of the extra work it would entail. She sinks down beside Emma and reaches out to pet the puppy's fluffy head. "I know you love him," she sighs. "Maybe some day… when we own a house, I'll get you a puppy…"

Emma rotates, again turning away from the older woman. She clings to the puppy, and allows it to gnaw on her finger. "I don't want_a_ puppy. I want this puppy," she whispers in disappointment. "Please? "

David overhears their conversation as he leans over the divider that separates the play space from the main hall. Ever since his divorce, he planned to adopt one of the animals from the shelter.

When he catches the pitiful look on Emma's face, and the regret and sorrow in Mary Margaret's eyes, David opens the latch on the door and smiles at them. "I have an idea," he says.

He stoops down and scratches the puppy's head, but he maintains a precautionary distance from Emma. He feels it is vital for her to trust him, but when he thinks about it, he can't pinpoint the underlying cause of his emotions.

At the moment, he wants to relieve Mary Margaret's stress and he reasons that the best way to do that is by bonding with Emma. "You can keep the puppy," he tells the blonde. "..But he's going to have to stay at my house most of the time. There's plenty of space for him there. You can come by and take care of him..."

Her eyes glisten with unshed tears when she turns to face David. "Really? You'll keep him for me?" Emma replies hopefully. As her smile returns, the puppy finally manages to squiggle from her lap, and she doesn't wait to hear the man's confirmation. She scrambles after it, leaving Mary Margaret and David to themselves.

Mary Margaret watches as Emma scampers away in pursuit of the ball of fuzz, and her pulse hammers in her throat she feels David gravitating closer. He offers his hand to help her up from the floor, and their eyes lock when she stands. "Thank you," she drawls.

David slips his arm around her and without thinking about her actions, Mary Margaret reaches out to touch his face. She smiles sadly and then withdraws, moving down the hall to find Emma.

Finally catching up to the puppy, Emma sweeps him up and turns around. She grins broadly at Mary Margaret. "Look," she says, holding the puppy up to her friend, "I have a puppy!"

Mary Margaret wears a toothy smile when she comes to a standstill in front of Emma. The faint dimples appear on her cheeks, and her eyelashes flutter happily. "Yes, you do," she confirms. "Are you going to say thank you?"

David follows Mary Margaret towards the front of the shelter, and grins when he glances at Emma. "That's not necessary," he insists.

Handing her puppy to David as she leaves, Emma scrunches her face in distaste, but does as requested. "Thanks for keeping my puppy," she mumbles.

* * *

Mary Margaret decides to take a shower when she returns home. Her muscles begin to ache when she fits the key into the lock on her apartment door, and her sleep deprivation wears at her as she drops her purse on the squat table by the entrance. She needs to remain alert to make it through dinnertime and Emma's nightly routine.

After she repeatedly assures the blonde that she can withstand a shower without the magic ring, Mary Margaret leaves her at the table with instructions to practice her reading. She heads into the bathroom and steps into the steam of a hot shower. The container of bubbles is sitting beside her shampoo, and she almost picks up the wrong bottle.

When she emerges from the bathroom, her short hair is wrapped in a towel and she has already changed into her pajamas. She strolls into the kitchen, but comes to a halt when she spots the mess that is strewn out on the countertops.

With a question ready on her lips, Mary Margaret turns towards Emma.

Emma smiles proudly at the older woman, and she places a plate of poorly assembled cheese sandwiches in between four bowls of overflowing Fruit Loops, and a plate of large, unprepared, over-microwaved vegetables. There's a giant blob of strange dessert goo with excessive cinnamon sprinkled on top, and two glasses half-filled with juice that has splattered onto the tabletop. "I made dinner," she explains, oblivious to the obvious nature of her statement.

Mary Margaret stares at the assortment of unusual delicacies and then pokes at the wilted vegetables, half expecting them to leap from the plate and run in horror. She slowly lowers herself into her chair and smiles at Emma before she samples one of the cheese sandwiches. For some reason, this scenario feels familiar to her, and she briefly wonders why she has the sense that Emma's cooking skills will never improve. "This is...-" she stutters as she searches for an appropriate word. "…sweet."

As she munches on sugary fruit loops, she thinks that the word she chose is appropriate in more ways than one. In spite of her aversion to drooping, unpeeled carrots, Mary Margaret smiles at Emma and makes a point of trying each dish. "Thank you," she says, with genuine warmth. "…No one has ever cooked dinner for me before..."

"I made the vegetables 'specially for you since you like them so much," Emma responds, finishing her second bowl of Fruit Loops, and reaching for a sandwich.

With the askew pile of cheese and bread halfway to her mouth, she suddenly stops and looks at Mary Margaret excitedly. "I can make dinner every night!"

Mary Margaret chokes on a mushy piece of broccoli and coughs into her napkin. Her eyes water as she leans over the table and tries to breathe. "N-no," she sputters. "I mean… we should…cook together. Like…Mother and Baby Mouse, in your new book. Remember how much fun they had?"

"Tomorrow, can we make cookies like the mice?" Emma asks.

As she brings a spoonful of the questionable dessert to her mouth, Mary Margaret frowns. "I have to go to school tomorrow," she explains. "I'm a teacher. Do you remember my friend Ruby? She's going to come over and spend some time with you on the days that I have to work."

Emma pouts, and stares at her plate. "But I'll...miss you," she murmurs pathetically.

Mary Margaret arranges her utensils as she shifts in her seat. She attempts to catch Emma's downcast eyes, and when she fails, she reaches out and takes her hand. "I'll be home by 2:30," she promises. "You'll hardly notice I'm gone..."

Emma pulls her hand away from Mary Margaret, and props her head on it as she pokes aimlessly at a pile of whipped cream with her spoon. "I don't want you to go." Her tone is flat and dejected, and she sighs softly.

Mary Margaret straightens up in her chair in a way that makes her seem more dignified and serious. "We can bake when I get home," she insists. "We're going to have a special guest tomorrow afternoon. His name is Henry. He's... one of my students."

Emma drops her head on the table dramatically, barely avoiding the unidentifiable dessert, but agrees to the arrangement. "Okay. Can we make chocolate chip?"

Mary Margaret collects the dishes and begins to clean the kitchen, although she estimates it will take her an hour to finish the process after Emma has gone to bed. "We can make any kind you want," she says.

As she wipes the counter with a sponge and tidies her spice cabinet, Mary Margaret glances over her shoulder. "Time to get ready for bed," she tells Emma. "You need to brush your teeth. Use the toothpaste this time…"

Scooting her chair back noisily, Emma trudges up the stairs to put her pajamas on. "I don't like your toothpaste," she whines. "It's yucky."

* * *

After several stories, Emma contentedly snuggles into her bed when Mary Margaret pulls up the blanket to tuck her in. She closes her eyes and feels the older woman press a gentle kiss to her forehead. She's never before felt safe and loved, and she relishes the affection bestowed upon her.

Mary Margaret eases up from the bed and then turns on the tiny night lamp in the corner of the room. "If you need me," she says, "I'm right downstairs."

She starts for the kitchen, but hovers in the doorway, with her outstretched hand hovering over the light switch. "I love you," she reminds Emma. "Sweet dreams."

Emma blinks slowly as she watches Mary Margaret. "I...love you, too," she says haltingly, testing the words out. She's never had an opportunity to say them to anyone, and they feel strange tumbling from her mouth. Her emotionally deprived six year old mind doesn't fully understand what it means to love someone, but she knows that she wants to say them to her friend.

Mary Margaret smiles to herself as she descends the steps. She washes and dries the dishes in a reflective haze, and when she slides into bed, she feels a pride that was formerly foreign to her. Her stress subsides as she meditates on the thought that she might be making progress with Emma.

She falls asleep with the hope that she can one day restore Emma's trust in people.

* * *

AN: Response to individual comments. Thanks so much for the reviews!

Lola: Thank you! Sigh, yes, "poor Emma" seems to be the theme of my (i.e. one of the author's) stories. I'm happily writing the part of MM for this...

You'reBrainySmurf: Thank you so much for reading, and for all of your lovely comments! Those are exactly the types of reactions we hope to inspire. There should be many chapters to come, and at least one update every week, since we begin working on the new chapter as soon as we post. ;) I'm sure it'll be long, since we both have a tendency to be long-winded…

Kelli Maguire: Yes. I should mention that curse will eventually be broken in this version of events, and the citizens of Storybrooke will then remember their original experiences in Fairytale land. They will also remember what happened when Emma first came to Storybrooke, before the reset of the curse. So, Emma and August will have time to come to terms with how they were mistreated, and August will have the opportunity to try and redeem himself. Thanks for your comments!

Temo: I posted a response to you in the last chapter, because I was eager to reply RE: Regina's behavior. Since we aren't focusing on her, we haven't given anyone a clear idea of what's going on in her head. In the upcoming chapter, we'll have a scene that features Regina and explains some of the details. For now, I'll explain it this way: she doesn't approve of physical abuse, due to her background. But at the moment she realizes the imminent danger of Emma regaining her stability as a functional adult. A six year old can't kill her, or take her son away, or ruin her evil reign.

She did try to block Emma from returning to town, but the prophecy describes what is fated to happen. No matter what Regina does, it is Emma's destiny to break the curse in the year following her 28th birthday.

I (one of the writers) also feel that Baelfire will be Henry's Dad. My other story actually explores that. We decided to go a different route with this story. Not because either of us would like August to be the father, but simply because it suited our purposes.

Yay. Glad you liked MM's methods of taking care of Emma. Ruby will make another appearance in the next chapter, and David will also be making regular appearances, although his relationship with MM will be rather complicated.

Henry will also make an appearance in the next chapter.

KJohnson17: So glad that you found this, and that you're enjoying it! You've actually read **both** of our other works, so we're thrilled to know that you're "hooked." ;)

Shaley-Humdinger-the-3rd: First of all, I just want to say that I'm very impressed by your username. Secondly: Thanks for your comments! We're happy to know that you're enjoying the story.

A Shy Reader: The progress will be slow, because of all that Emma has suffered. Clearly she's experiencing a backslide in this chapter, but MM & David will help by earning her trust. Thank you for reading!

SimpleLines: Yay. Glad you thought it was amazing. There are plenty of heart breaking & sweet moments to come.


	5. Entropy

The arrow of time, unless under the influence of magic, moves in but one direction. Its passage can be measured by the increase in chaos in isolated systems.

Storybrooke, Maine is nothing, if not a closed system. Shut off from the outside world by magic, twice over, the result is inevitable once the clock begins to tick. Disorder increases, and plans made by evil queens and nefarious imps begin to go awry…..

* * *

The sun is bright and glaring in the morning sky, like a keen and watchful eye. Natural light filters in through the slats on the windows of the pawnshop. The store is quiet, and for the most part, empty.

In her trim business suit, Regina looks like a practiced negotiator, both calculating and ruthless. She stands in the doorway and blocks out the sun, casting a long shadow on the wood floor.

Gold sits behind the cash register with a spyglass in hand. He seems smug and at ease, even when Regina approaches in quick strides and slams her fist against his showcase. "Lovely morning," he remarks. "I can see that all of the sunshine has put you in good spirits."

Regina's eyes widen and her mouth snaps into a puckered scowl. "Emma Swan is in town," she growls. "A judge granted custody to _Ms. Blanchard_. Can you believe that?"

Gold limps around the counter and goes about his normal routine. He checks the wares in the front of the shop and dusts the larger items that are out on display. "We have discussed this before," he reminds Regina. "It is her destiny to break the curse. We can tamper with fate, but it would take a much greater power to alter it—"

"I gave you everything you wanted!" shouts Regina. "Your son! Your little French maid!" Her pronunciations make the words sound like swears as they roll from her tongue. She paces in front of Gold, becoming impatient and furious. "You _will_ help me," she warns him.

With a chuckle, Gold licks his lips and considers what he will stand to lose when the curse is broken. He blinks at Regina, and then locates the tiny key to his showcase. "Perhaps you should pay Ms. Swan a visit," he suggests. "Bring her a gift."

* * *

Mary Margaret hops out of the bathroom with one heel on her foot and one in her hand. She hurries into the kitchen, and slips her arms into the salmon pink sweater that is hanging loosely over her polka dot dress. Her hair looks fluffy, but she sweeps her bangs back from her forehead and restrains them with a clip. "Emma," she calls, even though the young woman in question is sitting right in front of her. "Okay, so I put all of my information on this little card."

To remind her, Mary Margaret picks up an index card, where she has scrawled the phone number of the school and her cellphone number. "You're going to have a great time with Ruby," she smiles, planting a kiss on top of Emma's head.

Ruby gawks at her friend and slouches down on the stool beside Emma. Her lipstick is a shade best suited for the nightclub, but she wears jeans for once instead of a miniskirt. "You're not going out of state," she tells Mary Margaret. "The school is a five minute walk from here."

Emma pokes at her cereal as Mary Margaret gives instructions to Ruby. When the brunette kisses her head, she feels tears pooling in her eyes. The other woman remains next to her as she chats with Ruby, and Emma lets out a wail as she spins her stool and wraps her arms around Mary Margaret, burying her face in her sweater. "D-don't go…please don't leave me." She shakes with sobs, clinging desperately to the woman.

Mary Margaret feels a stab of guilt, followed by a sickening panic that churns up from her belly and into her throat. She holds her breath when Emma begins trembling, and without missing a beat, gathers the blonde into her arms.

In a matter of days, Emma has formed an attachment to her, and after a long night of reflection, Mary Margaret recognizes that Emma fills a void that has long been empty in her life: she has always wanted to be a mother.

The pain that Mary Margaret experiences when Emma cries is unlike any other, and she wonders if this is how mothers feel when they leave their children for the first time.

"I'll be back soon," Mary Margaret mutters, but her voice lacks all conviction. She considers calling in sick, or taking a short leave of absence until Emma feels more secure in her new environment.

Mary Margaret draws Emma over to a chair and gently rocks her while she curls up in her lap.

Ruby rummages in her bag, and then twists around to look at Emma. She waves a lollipop as though it is a baton, and offers it to the blonde. It's a cheap trick, but she suspects that Mary Margaret is _already_ thinking about quitting her job. "You can have this lollipop if you stop crying and play a board game with me," she sings. "Mary Margaret has to go to work, but maybe we'll take a walk and see her at lunch time."

Emma blinks away her tears, and watches Ruby quietly. She shakes her head in answer to the woman's bribe, and rubs her face on Mary Margaret's sweater.

Mary Margaret tips Emma's chin so that she can see into her watery eyes, and then presses another kiss to her forehead. "You have my ring," she whispers. "When you feel sad, or when you're missing me, all you have to do is flip the ring around your finger. See?"

In silence, Mary Margaret demonstrates by flipping the peridot ring around on Emma's thin finger. " If you do that, I'll know that you're thinking about me," she murmurs. "And I'll be thinking about you, too."

Wiping her eyes with her sleeve, Emma nods. "Okay," she mumbles, wrapping her arms around Mary Margaret's neck, and resting her head on the brunette's shoulder. "I'll miss you," she says softly.

Mary Margaret holds Emma until it is time to leave for work. She slowly unravels herself from the younger woman when Ruby swoops in with a board game.

As Mary Margaret hustles to the door and grabs her purse, she assures Emma that she will miss her, too. She slips out of the apartment after Ruby engages the blonde in conversation.

"What do you want to do today?" Ruby asks, as she sets up the cards and game pieces for Candyland.

"I don't know," Emma responds, resting her head dejectedly on the table, and picking up a red game piece. She peers up at Ruby thoughtfully. "Can you make my hair red like yours?"

Ruby gives Emma a doubtful look. "Okay," she finally agrees. "But we'll buy the type of dye that washes out. That way, Mary Margaret won't kill me…"

Emma grins in delight. "I'll go get dressed!" Before Ruby can respond, the blonde dashes up the stairs. When she returns a few moments later, she's dressed in a red shirt and black leggings. "I'm ready," she announces. "Let's go!"

Ruby smirks as she takes in the sight of Emma's wardrobe, but she grabs her plaid jacket and heads to the door. She holds the blonde woman's hand while they walk across the street to the drugstore.

After Ruby selects a bright red tube of temporary hair dye, she leads Emma back to the apartment and cuts two holes in a plastic garbage bag. "You have to wear this," she explains. "It'll keep the dye from getting on your new clothes."

Ruby knows that when Mary Margaret sees Emma's hair, she's going to be seeing red in more ways than one, and she doesn't want to further provoke her by ruining the outfit she purchased for the blonde.

The plastic bag is too warm, and Emma quickly becomes uncomfortable. She fidgets as Ruby applies the color. "I'm hot," she complains. Ruby doesn't respond to her whining, and Emma is quickly becoming bored. She feels the other woman doing _something_**,** and her impatience wins out. She spins the stool around and inadvertently jostles the brunette's arm.

The bottle of dye defies gravity, and rotates through the air before landing on Mary Margaret's white kitchen table. The thick liquid pools, seeping through the porous wood, then flowing over the edge and onto the floor. "Uh oh," Emma gulps. "We're in trouble."

Ruby runs to the sink and grabs a sponge before dashing over to the table and scrubbing the grain of the wood. "It'll come out," she insists, but she's already thinking of an alibi. She dumps a variety of cleaning products onto the tabletop, and when she begins to see the natural color return, she breathes a sigh of relief.

After she scrutinizes the table, Ruby glances up at Emma and appreciates the highlights in her hair. "Hey," she grins. "Your hair looks great."

Ruby wonders if Mary Margaret will share her sentiments, and decides that no matter the outcome, her friend is going to be furious. "Make sure you tell Mary Margaret how much you like your new hair," she tells Emma_._

_Otherwise there will be new stains on the table by the end of the day_. Bloodstains, that is. _Hers._

Emma returns Ruby's smile and hops off the stool to find a mirror. "Wow!" she calls from the bathroom, "I love it!" Returning to the kitchen area, she frowns at the textbooks and worksheets that Ruby has spread out across the table. "What…are you doing?" she asks carefully.

"Mary Margaret left us some fun activities to do," Ruby says, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. She hunkers down at the table and pushes a worksheet in Emma's direction. "Why don't we start with this one?"

Emma scowls, and crosses her arms defiantly. "No. I don't want to—"

"Why don't you do one worksheet, and then we'll read a story?" Ruby asks, as she searches through the pile of reading material that Mary Margaret left behind for Emma. She flips through a picture book with a bird on the cover, wishing that it was a magazine instead.

"Two," Emma responds, making no move to pick up her pencil. She's identified Ruby as a pushover, already having convinced the brunette to put streaks in her hair, and she plans to see if Ruby will agree to anything she wants.

"Sure," Ruby mumbles, half distracted by an illustration of a baby bird flying after an airplane. "But if we're reading two stories, then I think it's only fair that you do two worksheets instead of one."

Ruby casually plunks down the storybook, and picks up another worksheet, which she slides across the table to Emma.

With a miserable frown firmly in place at her inability to manipulate the brunette, Emma picks up her pencil and looks at the math sheet. "I don't know how to do this," she lies.

"Nice try," Ruby smirks, as she pushes herself up from the table and sashays into the kitchenette. She rummages around in the pantry and begins making lunch. "By the time this grilled cheese sandwich is done, you'd better be finished with that first worksheet."

The pencil clatters to the floor, and Emma pales at the threat. "Wh-what if I'm not?" she asks in quiet discomfort.

Ruby shrugs as she slaps cheese between two slices of white bread, and then places the sandwich in the frying pan that is sizzling on the stovetop. "Nothing," she admits. "But just do the worksheets, okay? It will make Mary Margaret happy, and she's going to be pretty pissed off when she gets home."

Emma's heart thumps fearfully in her chest. She doesn't want Mary Margaret to be mad. She's never been angry, and Emma becomes distressed. "I don't want her to be mad," the blonde cries. "Why will she be mad?"

"She's going to mad at _me_," Ruby clarifies, and then grabs a spatula to flip the sandwich onto a plate. She serves the grilled cheese to Emma, and sits beside her at the table, placing a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to console her. "She'd never get mad at you."

Sniffing quietly, Emma nibbles at her sandwich. "Okay," she mumbles. She picks up her pencil while she eats, and quickly finishes her math sheets. She looks at Ruby, who is still perusing the pile of books. "Can we read now?"

Ruby scans the worksheets for errors, and then chooses two of the storybooks. "Yup," she replies, moving over to the tiny couch that sits against the far wall of the apartment. "Let's read this one. The other stories look kind of lame."

She reads aloud from a book about pirates, doing her best to create voices for the characters. "Arrrgh," she groans.

Emma sits next to Ruby, and tries not to be afraid, though she _hates_ pirates. Fear prickles across her skin. By the end of the first page, she can't focus on the brunette's words.

Her eyes become blurry with unshed tears, and when Ruby flips the page to reveal a treasure chest, Emma cracks. "Nooo," she wails, ripping the book from Ruby's hands and hurling it. it across the room. "I don't want to go in the Boo Box!" Terrified, she flees to her room.

Emma grabs her blanket and curls up in a far corner. She chokes on her snot, and uses her blanket to wipe her eyes. She sucks on her thumb again, and memories flood her senses.

Ruby spends the rest of the afternoon trying to coax Emma out of the corner of her bedroom. After two hours of pleading with her, she even considers calling Granny for tips. Harried and desperate, she sits on the bottom of the stairs and waits anxiously for Mary Margaret to return.

* * *

Mary Margaret smiles cheerfully when she walks in the door, but the sight of Ruby sends her into a panic. "Where is Emma?" she asks, but only as a formality.

She hurries up the steps, and moves with caution as she approaches the cowering creature in the corner. "Emma," she breathes, hoping to catch her attention. "Emma..."

When she spots the red streaks in the young woman's hair, Mary Margaret comes to a complete standstill and crosses her arms. Her eyebrows zip inward in anger, but her frown flips into a faint smile when she notices that Emma is peering up at her. "Hi sweetheart," she whispers, and her eyes become soft. "Can you come here? Can you tell me what made you cry?"

Instead of encroaching upon Emma, Mary Margaret kneels on the floor and holds out her hand, waiting for a signal from her.

Exhausted from hours of stress and crying, Emma awkwardly lurches forward to put her head in Mary Margaret's lap. Finally safe, she shudders with a sigh of relief as her body relaxes. More than anything, she wants to fall asleep, and her eyes flutter shut as she feels a gentle hand in her hair.

Ruby sneaks into the room and hovers by the door while Mary Margaret comforts Emma. "We were reading a story about pirates," she prematurely explains, wringing her hands as she speaks. "She threw the book, and then said something about a Boo Box. She said that she didn't want to go inside of it…"

Mary Margaret twirls the red lock of Emma's hair, and gives her friend a testy look. "Was that before or after you dyed her hair?" she asks, but her mind is already on the Boo Box. She's thinking about how to broach the subject with Emma when Ruby leaves.

"It's temporary dye," Ruby starts to argue, but then she gestures towards the stairwell and frowns. "I'm going to go ahead and let myself out. I'm…really sorry, Mary Margaret. I didn't mean to upset her."

"She'll be okay," Mary Margaret reassures her. She feels more charitable when she finds out that Emma's dye job is only temporary. "Thanks for agreeing to watch her," she adds. "It's a big help."

Ruby nods and then retreats down the stairs, while Mary Margaret pulls Emma into her lap.

Mary Margaret kisses Emma on the forehead and looks her in the eye. "Emma," she murmurs, but her voice tapers off as she realizes how the younger woman might react to the question she wants to ask. "Did you think that Ruby was going to hurt you? I…would never leave you with someone who wants to cause you pain. You know that, right?"

Emma hides her face in Mary Margaret's shoulder. "She scared me," the blonde responds quietly. "I missed you."

Mary Margaret rubs Emma's back with the flat of her hand. "Will you tell me why you were scared?" she whispers. "...was it because of the story?"

With a tiny whimper, Emma nods. "I don't like the Boo Box." She starts to tremble, but is quickly soothed by Mary Margaret's touch.

"Can you tell me about the Boo Box?" Mary Margaret requests, in a soft and cajoling tone. She coils her fingers through Emma's hair and wraps a supportive arm around her shuddering back. "What is it?"

It's only because of her implicit trust in Mary Margaret that Emma resists the urge to flee. She shifts uncomfortably, and frowns, not understanding why the other woman seems confused. "The Boo Box is…a Boo Box. I don't want to go in," she explains. "I'm being good."

Mary Margaret senses Emma's uneasiness, and reaches for the tote bag she carries to school. "I was passing by Mr. Gold's shop on the way home," she says, pulling out a red leather jacket. "I saw this in the window, and I thought of you. I'm not… sure why."

As she hands the gift to Emma, Mary Margaret helps her up from the floor and then sits on the edge of the bed. "Sweetheart, you are _good_," she insists, putting emphasis on the message. "No one is ever going to put you in… the Boo Box. I just want you to tell me what it is. What does it look like?"

Emma takes the jacket in awe. "Wow… It's my favorite!" she responds. "Thanks!" She puts the jacket in her lap when Mary Margaret moves them to the bed, then reverts to looking miserable once more. She furrows her brow. "It looks like a Boo Box. Like the one in the book," she clarifies, as if it's as obvious as explaining that grass is green, and snow is white.

Mary Margaret takes Emma's hand and leads her downstairs to their living space. "Can you show me?" she asks, after she retrieves the book. "I've never seen a Boo Box."

While flipping through the pages, she comes to a halt and stares at the image of a treasure chest. Once her initial shock fades, her expression changes and she gawks at the book in horror. She flinches and then marches across the apartment, where she shoves the story into the trash. It is a picture book from her personal collection, but she can't remember when or why she bought it. "We don't allow Boo Boxes in this house," she tells Emma. "And we certainly do not put _anyone_ inside of them."

Emma falls gracelessly onto the couch as she watches Mary Margaret dispose of the book. She frowns, thinking about the other woman's words for a moment, then tilts her head to the side thoughtfully. "We… don't? Why not?" she questions curiously.

Mary Margaret opens the cabinet and begins to remove the flour and sugar for baking. She sets the items on the counter and ties an apron around her back. With a wooden spoon in one hand and a bowl in the other, she steps back into their den area. "We don't treat anyone that way," she says, in a high-pitched voice. "…come here."

She puts down her cooking instruments, and sits down with Emma, feeling tears rush from her eyes. Baking won't distract her from the thoughts that the picture book has planted in her head.

For a long while, she cradles Emma in her lap, pressing her nose into the soft bed of her curls. "You're… so special," she sighs. "Did… anyone ever tell you that? Did anyone ever treat you the way you deserve to be treated?" Mary Margaret exhales and dabs her tears on her apron.

With a contented sigh, Emma's eyes close. She's still tired, and begins to doze off as the brunette mumbles into her hair. She's vaguely aware of being shifted to the couch, and falls into a deeper nap when a blanket is drawn up over her shoulders.

* * *

Later in the evening, Henry arrives with his backpack slung over one shoulder and a smirk on his face. He waggles his eyebrows when Mary Margaret asks him whether or not he told the mayor about his plans for the evening. "She has a meeting with the sheriff," he explains. "They're going to spend all night making out. She won't even notice that I'm gone."

The boy trudges into the apartment and tosses his bag down on the table. He looks over at Emma, who is still sleeping peacefully on the couch. "Remember," he advises Mary Margaret. "We can't tell her that she's my mom. She can't handle it yet."

Mary Margaret agrees with Henry, but for different reasons. She's listened to his theories about the curse, and while she would never dash his childish fantasies, she doesn't believe that she is Snow White. "Should we start baking?" she asks. "Do you think Emma will be disappointed if we make the first batch without her?"

Henry shrugs and climbs onto a stool before reaching out to sample the vanilla frosting that Mary Margaret left on the countertop.

Emma wakes to the sounds of clanking and giggling, and cracks an eye open. There's cookie baking in progress and she jumps up. "Hey!" she says. "I want to help, too!" She scurries into the kitchen and comes to a quick stop when she sees Henry. "Hi," she mutters, vaguely recalling Mary Margaret telling her that someone else would be baking with them today. "Who are you?"

Henry smiles at Emma and shakes his bangs out of his eyes. "My name is Henry," he replies, offering her a fresh chocolate chip cookie.

Mary Margaret finds another apron for Emma and ties the strings for her. She observes the younger woman's interactions with Henry with wide-eyed interest.

"I'm Emma," the blonde grins, biting into the cookie. "These are good. Are we making more?"

"I think Ms. Blanchard wants us to eat dinner first," Henry frowns, snatching up another cookie. "I mean... – uhm, Mary Margaret. She made pasta… and that." He gestures to a pan that is filled with steamed spinach.

Scowling at the dish, Emma shakes her head. "Ewww."

With her best pleading eyes, the blonde turns to Mary Margaret. "Can't we please have pizza since we have a visitor? Henry doesn't want…that," she points to the green substance emphatically.

Mary Margaret frowns at all of the food she prepared, and then picks up the cordless phone. She dials the number of the local Italian restaurant and orders a cheese pie. "Pizza is on the way," she announces. "But you have to eat a vegetable with it. If you don't like spinach, choose something else."

"But I don't want any vegetables," Emma whines, reaching for another cookie. "There's tomato sauce on the pizza. That counts," she cleverly insists.

Mary Margaret glances at Henry, but he points his thumb at Emma and smirks. "Hey," he remarks. "I'm with her."

With a frustrated sigh, Mary Margaret retrieves her purse and hurries to the door to pay the delivery guy. She's surprised to find David standing in the stairwell, with a sheepish smile on his face.

The puppy yips at his heels and runs in circles around his legs, tying him up in the bright blue lead he purchased at the pet store.

David is holding the pizza box, and the pimple-faced teen that dropped it off is on his way down the steps. "Figured I'd drop by so that Emma could see her puppy," he explains. "I also thought that we could talk…"

Mary Margaret hangs on the door, but then moves aside and takes the pizza from him. "Time for dinner," she tells Henry and Emma, as she places plates and napkins on the table. "No more cookies until after you eat your pizza, and you're both going to _try_ some of my spinach…"

Eerily matching glares cross Emma and Henry's faces as they plop down on chairs at the table. Emma straightens suddenly, and leans over to whisper in Henry's ear. The boy smiles and nods quickly. They ignore Mary Margaret's suspicious look, and frown at the pile of spinach she lops on their plates. As he distracts Mary Margaret, Emma stabs the spinach with her fork, and shoves it under the table. She feels the fork moving as her puppy cleans it off. She pulls her hand back into view, and nods. "Oh, yes," she agrees. "So delicious." She tries to engage Mary Margaret in a conversation about cookies while Henry takes a turn feeding the puppy. Neither of them notices David trying to hide his laughter behind a bite of pasta.

"What is so funny?" Mary Margaret asks, propping an elbow up on the table. She stares at David, and then glances down at the puppy just in time to see him licking a green blob from the floor.

Without a word, she scoops up two more servings of spinach for Emma and Henry, and watches them closely until they try it. "Just take one bite," she insists.

Emma glares at David as she tastes the disgusting spinach. She chokes it down and quickly drinks her juice. "Yuck," she gags, and then looks over at Henry, who fares no better swallowing his. She thinks Henry will never visit for dinner again, and finds herself envious.

Frowning, she takes another slice of pizza and inhales it.

Mary Margaret feeds the leftover spinach to the puppy and pats him on the head. "At least someone likes my cooking," she remarks.

As she steps into the kitchenette area and begins scrubbing the dishes, David joins her. "I like your cooking," he smiles.

Dropping her eyes, Mary Margaret looks down at the running faucet and grips the edge of the sink. She risks glancing up at David and struggles to form a coherent thought. "Baking!" she exclaims. "We need to finish baking."

"Wait for me!" Emma calls, jumping up from the floor where she and Henry were playing with the puppy. She hurries into the kitchen and stands impatiently next to the ingredients. "What do we do first?" she asks, sticking a finger into the frosting.

An hour later, Emma frowns through a lingering cloud of flour. She had no idea baking was so hard. Chocolate chips have run amok, scattering across the counters, and into the living room. Really, it hadn't been _her_ fault. Henry had thrown the first chip, which had whacked her right on the forehead. She'd merely retaliated. She couldn't help it if her aim was bad, and her handful of chips had sailed over Henry's head and into the other room.

In fact, she wasn't even the one that had spilled the sugar everywhere. Mary Margaret had done that. Well, maybe it didn't help that Emma had dropped the eggs on the floor while the brunette was measuring, and Henry had slipped and fallen into the older woman. Still, she didn't think that she and Henry deserved to be banished from the kitchen. With a sigh, she glances at Henry, who looks equally as miserable. She pokes him in the arm as they sit together on the couch. "You started it."

Henry pokes her back. "Did not. _You_ dropped the eggs."

With her back still turned, Mary Margaret scolds them. "Stop poking each other, stop talking to each other. You are both in time out."

"It's not even my fault!" Emma complains.

"_Emma_…" the brunette warns her.

"Fine." Emma crosses her arms in a huff, and sticks her tongue out at Henry.

David sits at the table with the puppy at his side. He has also been shooed out of the kitchen, and he is loath to argue with Mary Margaret when she's in the midst of a cleaning frenzy. "We're all in trouble," he informs Emma and Henry, as he moves to the chair by the couch.

The puppy trots over to nudge Emma's foot, and Henry reaches down to pet his fluffy back. "Hey," he says. "You never told me the puppy's name."

Mary Margaret spins around on her heel, and gives them all a menacing look. The countertops and floors are spotless, but there is whipped icing stuck to the refrigerator.

She sets down the mop and grabs a damp sponge that leaks red hair dye down the front of her apron. With a suspicious, lopsided frown, she rips off her apron and stalks into the den area. "You," she points at Emma. "Time to get ready for bed. "

Without prompting, David rises from his seat and reaches out to catch the puppy before he can scoot away. "I'll give Henry a ride home," he tells Mary Margaret. "Thank you for dinner."

Henry hurries to collect his schoolbag and his light fall coat. "Thanks for inviting me over," he chirps, and then glances at Emma. "Goodnight. Sorry about the food fight." Emotion flashes through his eyes as he departs.

Blinking contritely, Emma looks up at the brunette. Mary Margaret is not pleased. So as not to further irritate the already unhappy woman, Emma rushes through her bedtime routine. She requires no reminders this time, and even brushes her teeth _with_ the other woman's disgusting toothpaste.

She wanders out of the bathroom and sees that Mary Margaret is still cleaning. Lingering at the bottom of the stairs, she watches for a moment, then stares at the floor. "I'm…ready for bed. Will you read me a story?" she asks nervously, unsure if the woman is in the mood to do more than flip off the light switch.

Mary Margaret places the bottles of Lysol and bleach back underneath the sink. Her mood only shifts when she notices Emma and discerns the uncertainty in her pale face. "Of course," she assures her. "Ready?"

She leads the younger woman up to her bedroom and allows her to select a story while she dries and brushes her long, blonde hair.

"This one," Emma decides, handing the book to Mary Margaret before settling under the blankets. When the older woman sits next to her, Emma instinctively curls around her, and rests her head on the brunette's stomach so she can see the pictures.

Mary Margaret reads aloud from a story about a baby bird in search of his mother. As she does, the gears in Emma's mind start to turn, and she reaches out to touch the illustration of the crying bird.

As if by magic, Emma comes to a startling realization by the end of the story. Mary Margaret is her mother. She wraps her arms tightly around the startled brunette, and sighs happily. "I love you, Mommy," she whispers, before quickly drifting off to sleep.

The word _mommy_ screams through Mary Margaret's tired body, and images flicker through her mind with a blinding intensity. Memories assail her in a series of turbulent, waking nightmares."_Emma_," she sobs, recalling the first time that she held her sweet baby…

* * *

AN: Thank you all for the reviews! I realize that the Regina/Gold scene didn't clear everything up. Might include some flashback scenes in the upcoming chapter…

Kelli Maguire: Thanks! No problem. Like I said before, we'll always reply. ;) Or.. at least one of us will. **Cough.**

Shaley-Humdinger-the-3rd: Happy you enjoyed the chapter! Yes, you are right in assuming that the "Boo Box" is Captain Hook's treasure chest, as we saw in this chapter. It's a reference to Hook.

Guest I (which I assume is Temo?): Yeah, there's no way that MM is allowing Emma to cook by herself. Never, not ever again.

MM/David have a more complicated relationship in this fic. Instead of putting David back in the coma, Regina used a different tactic to keep them apart: she gave them other memories RE: David's divorce from Kathryn, and what happened thereafter. Those memories will be explored in the next chapter.

Ahh, I hope the Ruby/Emma scenes didn't disappoint. I've discovered that I kind of suck at writing Ruby, so sorry if this wasn't your favorite.

Yes, poor Emma. She is very heartbreaking in her regressive state.

Guest II: I'm glad we made your mind more active. Wow. Didn't know we had the power to do that. Awesome.

Thanks for all of the compliments! We do spend a lot of time brainstorming ideas, so it's great that you're enjoying our plots. ;)

We are trying to achieve a mix of humor and drama, so if you're shedding tears and laughing, we've done what we set out to do.

Lola: No, no! You didn't come off as rude at all. I'm just accustomed to people saying that about my stories, because my themes are generally sad/dramatic in nature. ;(

What happened to Emma is very sad. MM/Snow will help her.

SimpleLines: Yes, David/MM have a very complicated relationship. Thinking about doing a flashback scene to explain that in the upcoming chapter. He's trying to stay on Emma's good side to support MM, and also because he has a vague sense that Emma is important to him, somehow.

I hope the scenes with Henry didn't disappoint.


	6. Gravity

The force of gravity is fundamental. It holds everything in place, and is the phenomenon which attracts physical bodies to each other. It can be strong or weak, depending on proximity...

* * *

The darkness swallows up the stars, and the first morning light fades in through the window, moving at the speed of an eye-blink.

With the experiences of Snow White and Mary Margaret rattling around in her head, the brunette sits awake and watches her child sleep. She cannot reconcile her dual existences, and the three different lives that she has led in the matter of nine, recursive decades.

Her mind insists that the woman in the bed is the baby that she held only moments ago, and another part of her remembers the Emma who was her best friend.

The pain of her memories is oppressive and crushing, because she also knows the blonde as an abused little girl.

"_My_ little girl," she cries, choking on the spasms in her throat. "Emma—"

As she stirs into wakefulness, Emma inhales the comforting scent of her mother, and burrows into her stomach. She sighs softly, thinking she's never been so warm and content. Her arm is still wrapped around the brunette, and she twitches it tighter. Her eyes blink open sleepily, and she looks up at Mary Margaret. "Hi, Mommy," she smiles.

Snow feels her lips start to tremble when she smiles down at Emma, and the wrinkle above her left eyebrow becomes progressively more noticeable as she struggles to breathe. "Good morning, sweetheart," she manages to whisper, before reaching out to grab a tissue. Emotion compresses the brunette's chest until her lungs refuse to draw air, and a wave of vertigo causes her to lean back against the headboard. "Did…you sleep— okay?" she gasps.

After she recovers from the brief dizzy spell, Snow gathers Emma into her arms and searches her hazel eyes for a sign of recognition. She finds a child staring back at her, with a worried expression on her face.

"You were right," Snow tells her, in a tremulous voice. "I _am _your mother, Emma. I'm _so sorry_ that we've been apart…"

Emma sits up and frowns, unhappy that the brunette is upset. "It's okay, Mommy. You don't have to be sad. I like when Ruby comes over, and it's only for a little while. And you stayed with me all night. I like when you do that," she admits.

When her words do nothing to soothe her mommy, Emma takes Mary Margaret's hand and tries to tug her out of bed. "We should make pancakes with chocolate chips. It'll make you feel better," she explains wisely.

Snow begins to shake her head, but she takes a sobering breath and collects her thoughts. Her eyes are half shut, as though she is squinting, and her face falls when she tries to speak. "Emma," she whispers in her light, airy tone. "I need to tell you something very important. Can you come here for a second?"

When the blonde sits next to her, Snow takes her hand, and turns to look at her. "You are my little girl," she sniffles. "Not just because you're living with me now, but because… you've always been mine. Do you understand? I _am_ your mommy, Emma. I will always be your mommy, no matter how old you are. I am _so_ sorry that people have hurt you, but I_ promise_ to protect you…""

Snow blinks back her tears, and her mouth twists into a quivering frown.

"I love you…so much," she cries. "More than anything in the whole world. You are so...special and perfect. I will always, always love you. Please… don't ever forget that."

Bewildered by the brunette's behavior, Emma responds quietly. "Okay, Mommy. I love you, too." When the other woman continues to cry, Emma begins to feel anxious. She pulls the peridot ring off her finger and returns it to her mother's hand. "You should wear this so you aren't sad," she suggests. "I have you, so I don't need it anymore."

With a nervous energy brewing in her stomach, Snow twirls the ring around her finger and thinks about what she must to do in order to help her child. She blows her nose into a tissue and tosses it into the wastepaper basket before getting out of bed. "We should make pancakes," she whispers.

In the kitchen, Snow locates her cookie cutters, and mixes batter for their breakfast. She presents Emma with a plateful of star shaped pancakes, made with extra chocolate morsels and topped with a light dusting of powdered sugar.

Ruby arrives while Emma is eating, and as Snow opens the door, she lunges in to hug her close friend. "R-Ruby," she stutters. "How are you?"

The taller brunette blinks at Snow, and quirks an eyebrow as she draws her shoulders into a shrug. "Oh… kay?" she asks.

Snow grins from ear to ear as she ushers Ruby inside and offers her a plate of pancakes. "I'm going to take the day off," she decides. "I want to spend more time with Emma."

Ruby chokes on a mouthful of food and drops her fork as she begins to cough. She's convinced that Mary Margaret will quit her job, and wonders whether it was the hair dye or the crying incident that pushed her to it. "Come on!" she protests. "We didn't even use permanent dye... and you can hardly see the stains on your table…"

As soon as she sees the glare on her mother's face, Emma stares pointedly at her pancakes. She tries to ignore the close inspection of the table, and refuses to look up when she sees the woman lean back and cross her arms. She hopes Ruby will be the recipient of whatever scolding is sure to come, but concludes that escape is her best option. She quickly pushes away from the table. "I'm going to go get dressed," she blurts out, moving towards the stairs. She thinks she's free, but is halted in mid-step by a firm command.

"Freeze."

Emma squeezes her eyes shut, and turns around slowly, peering at Mary Margaret through long lashes. "We didn't mean to, Mommy. It was an accident," she pleads.

Ruby sees the effect that Emma has on Mary Margaret, and follows suit by arranging a pathetic frown on her face. For a moment, she questions why the blonde has taken to calling her caretaker by the name "mommy," but it somehow seems natural. "Yeah," she whines. "Don't punish us, mom_._"

Snow feels incapacitated by her guilt, and finds that she is unable to scold Emma on a day that she hoped would be memorable and fun for her daughter. "Go upstairs and brush your teeth," she sighs, and then turns back to Ruby. "In the future, if Emma asks you about hair dye, tattoos, boys, or body piercings, will you please tell her to consult _me_?_"_

"I would," Ruby jokes. "But you don't know anything about those subjects. Besides, Emma already has a tattoo…" She laughs as she puts her plate in the sink, and consoles Mary Margaret by patting her on the shoulder.

Snow looks tense and miserable as she folds her hands in her lap. "That will be her first and last," she insists.

Emma bounds back down the stairs, happy that Mary Margaret is staying home with her today, and plops down in the chair next to her. She offers her a toothy grin, as she leans on her forearms. "Can we go play with my puppy today?"

"Of—course—we can," Snow drawls, as she pops up from her chair, and cleans the dishes in a whirlwind of lively panic. "We'll also… get to see David."

Ruby creeps towards the door, both confused and somewhat unsettled by Mary Margaret's erratic behavior. "You see him all of the time," she blinks.

"Right," Snow agrees, and then there is a visible shift in her conduct. With a frown on her face, she nods solemnly and busies herself by rearranging the flowers that sit on the kitchen countertop.

"_Well,"_ Ruby muses. "If you need…any help, be sure to call me." She reaches for her coat and then departs.

Once she feels more composed, Snow perches on the chair beside Emma and stretches out her hand, placing it on her daughter's arm. "We can do whatever you want today," she promises. "I want you to remember this…as a _special_ day."

* * *

Oblivious to her mother's awkward greeting with David, Emma enters the man's house as if it's her own. Her puppy is wild, darting around her feet, and she sits down in the foyer to avoid tripping.

The dog pounces and snaps at her wiggling fingers, skidding across the slippery floor when he moves too fast. He spies a squeaky toy, and sneaks up on it before moving in for the kill. He proudly dances back to Emma, and hops around playfully as she tries to get it from him.

When the tiny ball of fur scampers into another room, Emma hurries after him. Moments later she returns, with the puppy in her arms, to find that her mother and David have left the foyer.

"Mommy!" Emma calls, wandering through the house.

She finally locates them in the kitchen, and frowns at David. "He peed on the floor," she announces.

David feels his cheeks become rosy as he stands up to fetch a roll of paper towels, and a mop that he seems to be keeping on hand for this particular purpose. "Why don't you take him outside, and I'll clean that up?" he suggests.

Snow hurries to help him, and as they both clean the mess from the floor, he casts a worried glance in her direction. "Emma… just called you mommy," he mutters.

Based on his body language, Snow can tell that he disapproves of their bond. "Don't you think this has gone a bit too far?" he whispers. "I know that you've always wanted children, and I think what you're doing with Emma is _great_, but…you might be setting yourself up for some major disappointments..."

"Ch-David," Snow breathes. "Emma…needs a mother." She frowns stubbornly when he opens his mouth to protest. "One day, you'll understand why I'm doing all of this…"

In silence, David and Snow take turns scrubbing their hands at the kitchen sink. "I'm just concerned about you," he finally admits. "You know, we… might have had a family if things had worked out between us…"

Snow grips the countertop for support, and allows her eyes to slip closed. She feels powerless, overwhelmed and frustrated.

While she knows that she must remain levelheaded for the sake of her daughter, she wants nothing more than to drive over to her stepmother's house and demand restitution for their collective suffering. She wants to confide in David, and stir up the memories of his past lives, but she has no way of knowing what will trigger a reawakening.

"We _are _a family," Snow assures him, speaking in a hoarse whisper. She stands on her tiptoes and presses a soft kiss to his mouth.

David grins through the kiss, and reaches out to touch Mary Margaret's cheek. "You're right," he agrees. "We always will be."

After watching her puppy nose through the grass for several minutes, Emma takes him back inside. She glares at the sight of David so close to Mary Margaret. She represses the urge to kick his shin, but only because he's keeping her puppy. Instead, she sticks with a verbal interruption. "I'm back. I need a name for my puppy. Can you help?" she asks, taking both their hands and dragging them into the living room. She sits between them on the couch, closer to her mother, and when her puppy paws at her legs, she holds him in her lap. "Okay, Mommy. You go first."

Snow ponders potential names while the puppy sniffs her dress and nips at her fingers. "How about…Humphrey?" she asks.

"_Humphrey_?" David balks. "What kind of a name is Humphrey? Why don't we call him Spot?" He glances at Emma to gauge her opinion, and misses the unhappy look that crosses Mary Margaret's face.

_Oh, yes, there were reasons she never consulted him when it came time to name their firstborn. _

Emma makes a face. "Spot? I don't like that name. I like Mommy's name better." She brings the puppy up to her face, and kisses his muzzle. "Hi Humphrey," she coos. "Such a good little puppy."

Humphrey wags his tail excitedly, and flicks his tongue out at Emma. He gnaws on her hair when she puts him on her shoulder, then clambers over to squirm around in Snow's lap. He grabs her dress in his needle-sharp teeth, and growls playfully as he hops backwards onto Emma, foiling the woman's attempts to free her clothing from his grasp.

When Snow manages to wrench the fabric out of the puppy's mouth, it becomes a game of tug-o-war for Humphrey, and he lets out a low growl.

David comes to Mary Margaret's rescue and scoops Humphrey into his arms. "Hey," he mutters to the pup, as he scratches him behind his long, floppy ears, and then puts him down on the floor next to a heap of rawhide bones. "There you go, Knucklehead."

"So," David muses, as he turns around and assesses the damaged sleeve of Mary Margaret's dress. "Since this is the first time you've shirked your responsibilities by staying home on a school day, should we celebrate with popcorn and a movie?"

Emma smiles excitedly and nods before her mother can respond. "Yes! I love popcorn! What movie are we going to watch? Can we watch more than one? What about lunch? I want a grilled cheese from Granny's. Maybe Ruby can watch with us, too…" she rambles, trailing after David into the kitchen.

David laughs as he searches around in the cabinet and locates the popcorn. He dumps kernels into a small measuring cup and pours the corn into a deep saucepan that he heats on the stovetop. "Here we go," he says, as he hands Emma a large bowl that brims with hot popcorn. "We can watch as many movies as you want, and Ruby is welcome to join us, if she's free…"

Snow rummages through his DVDs while Emma is busy munching on popcorn. The action movies are stamped with content ratings and warnings that cause her to frown.

As Emma selects a film that promises to be packed with blood and gore, Snow shows her disapproval by crossing her arms and staring at David. "Where is that documentary I brought over a few months ago?" she asks, as she snatches the DVD away from her daughter.

With a sigh of defeat, David trudges towards the entertainment center and finds her DVD, which is tucked away at the bottom of the pile. "This one?" he sulks.

Snow grabs the DVD case from David, and pops the disc into the player before he or Emma can object. "It's educational," she claims.

David slumps down on the couch and gulps down his soda to prepare himself for the mind-numbing movie.

Scowling, Emma slouches down in her seat until the top of her head is even with her mother's shoulder. She removes the bowl of popcorn from the other woman's lap, and puts it in her own before grabbing an enormous handful and shoving it in her mouth. "This movie sucks," she complains. "I don't want to watch this."

On screen, a birdwatcher lifts his binoculars and encourages the viewer to listen to the sounds of the rare kakapo.

"It's not even a real movie," David mutters, as he drinks his third soda. "It's some guy walking around with a camera. For all we know, that's his mother's backyard…"

As she removes the top from a can of Mt. Dew, Snow scolds Emma for her use of language and belatedly hands her the drink. "You can have _one_ soda," she cautions, and then frowns at David because he is setting a bad example for their daughter. She wonders what their experiences would have been like had they raised Emma in another environment, under different circumstances. She thinks that James would have been a good father, in spite of his inability to monitor his soda-intake. "No more for you," she declares, giving him a pointed look.

David eases up from the couch and disappears into the adjoining room. He returns with an armload of sheets and a long rope, which he uses to build a fort for Emma and her puppy.

While Mary Margaret watches the film, David dumps the Humphrey in her lap. "Go get her," he tells the pup, and the dog begins licking the brunette's face.

Emma crawls into the fort to escape the educational film, then pokes her head out when she hears David give the puppy to her mother. "David," she begins, "Humphrey doesn't want to watch that either. He says it's boring. Put him in here and bring the popcorn. Mommy can watch that by herself while we do something fun." After she directs a tiny glare at Mary Margaret, Emma withdraws into her hideout, so that David and Humphrey can enter.

David balances the bowl of popcorn in one arm, and the puppy in the other. He ducks down and smiles dimly at Emma as he crawls inside of the fort. "Let's…play a game," he suggests.

Soon thereafter, David and Emma raid the house and gather the supplies they will need. The father and daughter duo are both dressed in matching suits of armor when Snow next sees them emerge from their fort; David and Emma have both tied pillows around their bodies, and they wear bowls on their heads in lieu of helmets. With long, wooden spoons, they fling popcorn in the brunette's direction.

Snow has to remind herself that she wants this to be a memorable day for Emma. It isn't until the puppy begins eating popcorn off of the front of her dress that her frustration skyrockets and her patience dwindles. "What is _wrong_ with the two of you?" she asks.

Emma looks at David and frowns, before turning back to her mother. "Nothing," she responds with a shrug, loading her spoon behind her back. "You're the one watching the boring movie." Quickly dropping down to one knee, she whips the spoon out, and catapults a kernel across the room. David's kernel follows suit, and they land two direct hits to the woman's forehead. When they see Mary Margaret push up from the couch, Emma nudges David. "I think we should run," she whispers.

Snow calmly hits the 'power' button on the remote. With measured steps, she approaches the mischievous pair, and collects their spoons. "Oh, running won't help you," she warns them, in her light but serious tone of voice. "I'd advise you both to surrender."

Emma swallows thickly and backs up until she hits a wall. She spares a glance at David, and sees that he's faring no better. In a brilliant move of self-preservation, she grabs David's arm and yanks him in front of her as a sacrifice. "It was David's idea. He made me do it." She peeks out from around the man, and spots Humphrey sniffing around. "Oh! Humphrey has to… go out," she says quickly, shoving David lightly into Mary Margaret before hurrying outside with the puppy.

David grins sheepishly as he bumps into Mary Margaret. "We…were just having fun," he explains. "I'm sorry that it got out of hand."

The doorbell rings before Snow can reprimand him. "Please tell Emma that it's lunchtime," she sighs. "The two of you should also think about cleaning up your mess…"

As Snow predicted, Ruby is standing on the front steps, holding a bag of take-out from the diner.

When Ruby catches sight of Mary Margaret, her forehead ripples with confusion. "Got your text," she tells her best friend. "What's… going on?"

The visual of Mary Margaret with popcorn in her hair conjures up a mental image of another, different woman—the young Snow White, who wears flower petals instead of foodstuffs.

Ruby plucks the fluffy kernels out of Mary Margaret's short bob. "Trying out a new look?" she asks.

Snow frowns as Ruby inspects the top of her head and laughs at her. "Yep," she remarks, in an ominously short tone of voice. "_Fortunately_, it will _wash_ out…"

Emma scowls in annoyance as she digs through the couch to locate popcorn crumbs. David folds up the sheets from the fort, and Humphrey obligingly scavenges for any morsels on the carpet. She dumps a handful of kernels in the trash, and decides that she's not going along with any more of David's ideas. She sweeps Humphrey up into her arms, and sits down at the kitchen table to wait for lunch.

David passes around the plates, and then digs into the French fries that he ordered with his cheeseburger. He watches Mary Margaret from across the table, and wonders whether or not he will be on the receiving end of a lecture at some later date.

Snow seats herself next to her daughter, and places a napkin in her lap. She glances back at David, and sees a glimmer of James in his eyes.

As Snow daydreams and unwraps her sandwich, Humphrey spies a slice of turkey hanging out from between the leaves of lettuce and diced tomatoes. When she looks over at Ruby, the puppy jumps out of Emma's lap and lunges for the brunette's lunch.

"Hey!" David shouts at Humphrey, but the dog gobbles down the sandwich, bread and all.

"Oh, Mommy," Emma says in horror, watching the puppy inhale the food. "You shouldn't have let Humphrey eat your sandwich. He might get a tummy ache."

Scurrying around the table, Emma picks up her naughty bundle of fur, and scolds him. She points her finger at his nose. "No, no, Humphrey. Vegetables are not for dogs. They're yucky."

With a tiny snarl, Humphrey snaps at the offending appendage, then wiggles his tail and licks the blonde. Emma giggles softly. "Okay… I forgive you," she assures him, ignoring her mother's indignant look. "Such a good little boy," she continues, returning to her seat to enjoy her lunch.

"Emma," Snow sighs through her teeth. "Please come with me." She stands up and then moves into the living room, where she paces until Emma slouches down on the couch.

Snow comes to a halt in front of her daughter. "_Emma_," she frowns. "Puppies do not belong at the table. It's not okay for Humphrey to eat my lunch…or anyone else's—"

Emma tilts her head to the side, and looks at her mother. "But I told him he was bad…"

"Emma," Snow reiterates. "Puppies _do not _belong at the table. End of discussion." When she sees the blonde nod and lower her eyes, she continues. "Look at me, please."

With an aggrieved sigh, Emma peers upwards.

"We also do not throw food," Snow insists. "We had this same conversation last night. We don't throw _anything_ at other people. Do you understand?" she asks.

"But David said…" the younger woman starts, only to snap her mouth shut when the brunette glares at her in warning.

"Do you understand?" Snow repeats, in her best no-nonsense tone.

Her daughter nods solemnly and reaches out for a hug. "I'm sorry," she apologizes, biting her trembling lip. "Don't be mad at me."

Snow encircles Emma in her arms, and soothingly combs her fingers through her hair. "I'm not mad at you," she promises. "Even when I am angry, it doesn't change how I feel about you. I'll still love you. _Always._"

* * *

In the middle of the afternoon, Regina uses her skeleton key to let herself into the small apartment that her enemies call a home.

She sneers at the sweet, decorative style that somehow suits both Snow White and her dowdy schoolmarm personality, Mary Margaret. Her bitterness prompts her to linger in the foyer, staring in disgust at the mismatched chairs and airy drapes.

With a sour expression on her lips, she glides towards the stairs and up the steps. She clutches a ticking clock in her gloved hand, and her heart beats along with the timepiece as she hides it in a cubbyhole at the back of Emma's closet. "There we go," she murmurs aloud to herself. "Now you're sure to feel right at home, Ms. Swan."

.

.

Adjusting his heavier than normal backpack, Henry prepares himself to knock on his teacher's door. He hopes she and Emma are home and that his plan to jog their memories works. He's glad Paige was nice enough to lend him her _Disney Sing It_ video game. He grins widely, because he can't wait to hear Snow White sing in person, even if she doesn't know she's Snow White. He raps on the door excitedly, but lets out a tiny whoosh of air when Emma yanks him inside and tells him to be quiet.

"Shhhh..." she hisses. "My mommy is in the other room. Be quiet so we can sneak cookies before she gets back."

Emma takes his hand, keeping a watchful eye out for Mary Margaret.

She swipes four cookies from the plate, and hands two of them to a perplexed Henry, before ushering him over to the couch. "What's in the backpack?" she asks, spitting cookie crumbs across the couch.

"Emma," Snow calls out to her daughter. "No cookies before dinnertime—"

The brunette is poised over her sewing desk, holding spools of thread and a pincushion that looks as quilled as a porcupine. She brings her sewing into the living room, but stops short when she sees her grandson.

"Henry," Snow beams, as she drifts closer to the boy. "How are you?"

"Hi, Ms. Blanchard," Henry returns, digging around in his backpack. "I brought a video game for us to play," he continues, moving to the television and plugging things in. "It's… a singing game. So, you just follow the notes, and whoever hits the most notes, wins. It'll be me and Emma versus you." He _knows_ the brunette will win. After all…she's Snow White!

He desperately hopes his song selections will make her remember…something. Emma nods enthusiastically, swallowing the last of her cookie. "Oh, fun! We go first," she insists, picking up the wireless microphone.

Snow gawks at the television screen while Henry and Emma begin to sing along to the upbeat rendition of "Hakuna Mutata." She then reaches for the case that held the video game disc, and stares at a depiction of Cinderella.

By the time the song finishes, Snow appears to be deep in thought.

"Where is Snow White?" she finally asks, perplexed as to why no one has bothered to include a cartoonish picture of her alongside all of the other fairytale figures.

She seems insulted by the oversight, and frowns when Henry thrusts the microphone into her hand.

Her song starts, but the notes flit across the screen before she can react. "… What song is this?" she blinks. "This is all wrong…"

There is a long delay before she opens her mouth and warbles along with the music from the Sleeping Beauty soundtrack.

In frustration, she lowers the microphone and spins towards Henry and Emma. "We DO NOT go around singing like this!" she protests.

At first appalled by the fact that his cursed grandmother – that _Snow White_- can't carry a tune, and sounds like a dying cat, Henry's spirits lift at her outburst. He opens his mouth to respond, but Emma speaks first:

"Mommy, I'm pretty sure _nobody_ goes around singing like _that_**.** Maybe you need to play a different game," the blonde observes, prying the microphone from her hands. "You definitely lost. Me and Henry will keep playing. Aloooone," she drawls, directing a pointed look at the affronted brunette.

"Yeah. She's right. You should play something different," he advises, wanting nothing more than to speak to the brunette alone. He can tell that Emma is still six, and can't risk speaking openly about the curse in front of her. As for the game…well, at least his mom can sing.

Snow snatches up her sewing and storms into the kitchen. While Henry and Emma take turns singing songs that describe the hardships of her close friends, she busies herself with the cooking and cleaning. After serving supper, Snow sends Emma off to bathe and pulls Henry aside.

As soon as Emma leaves, Henry peers at the brunette with wide, hopeful eyes. He speaks before she can get her thoughts together. "Do…you remember?" he asks quietly.

Snow nods, because she is tongue tied and emotional. Her eyes tear up and she circles an arm around Henry's shoulder. "I remember," she confirms.

"I'm going to do everything I can to help Emma," Snow assures him, as she brushes the bangs out of his eyes. "She needs to break the curse."

Henry wraps his arms tightly around her waist, relieved that he is no longer alone. "Do you remember the other Storybrooke, too?" He's curious as to whether the woman only remembers her life as Snow White, even though _he _can recall the other Storybrooke.

Snow draws the boy closer and lets out a deeply burdened sigh. "I remember everything," she frowns. "Henry, we need to proceed cautiously. We can't let the Evil Queen find out about this…"

Henry rolls his eyes at Snow. "I know that. I'm in charge of Operation Cobra, remember? I've had twenty years to practice hiding things from her," he jokes with a charming smile. "I can do it." His bravado falters slightly when he looks into her green eyes. "I've missed you…"

Snow straightens her posture and gives Henry a meaningful look. "I miss you, too," she murmurs. "I promise that we won't be apart for much longer..."

Underneath her serene surface, Snow is seething with anger. "We're going to be together now, as a family," she adds. "_No one_ is going to stand in the way of that..."

* * *

Henry is gone by the time Emma is done getting ready for bed, and she hurries up the stairs to pick a story before her mother comes to tuck her in. She wanders into the room, but comes to a screeching halt at the foot of the bed. It's a quiet sound, but she can just hear the faint tick tock of a clock. Her eyes slam shut, and she begins to hyperventilate. The room tilts and spins, like a twirling kaleidoscope. Ignoring her dizziness, she yanks open her drawers and scatters clothes across the room, searching for the source of the incessant noise. It's nowhere to be found, and she drops to her knees to look under the bed. She pulls boxes from the closet, opening them frantically before tossing them aside in an effort to find the clock.

When she fails to find it, hot tears of panic stream down her face. Her eyes are wild, and she quickly comes unglued. She sinks down to the floor, knees to chest, and presses her hands over her ears. She rocks back and forth erratically.

Snow feels a flutter of anxiety in her chest as she reaches the top of the landing, and stands outside of the upstairs bedroom. "Emma?" she breathes. "Are you ready for b…"

When she sees that her daughter is hunched over and crying, Snow rushes to her side. "Are you hurt?" she gasps. "What is it? Sweetheart, tell me what's wrong…"

After Emma fails to respond, Snow gathers her into her arms and hauls her into bed. "You're frightened," she concludes, as the blonde trembles and presses her face into the warmth of her mother's neck.

Sill able to hear the clock, Emma sobs harder. She suddenly feels an overwhelming need to flee, and begins to squirm agitatedly. She tries to escape her mother's hold, and lets out a distressed whine when the older woman's hold only tightens.

"It's okay," Snow whispers to her. "Emma, you're safe…" The brunette cups her daughter's chin in her hand, and looks her straight in the eye.

Emma shakes her head, and pulls back from her mother. She inhales sharply at a wave of nausea, then moves towards the woman, rubbing her face against Mary Margaret's shirt. She whimpers at her conflicted feelings, confused as to whether she wants to stay with the brunette, or exit the room.

Snow cradles her child because she cannot guess at the source of her fear. She can only rock Emma, and hope that her presence will be enough to soothe the terrified woman. "I'm here," she reminds her. "I won't let anyone hurt you, Emma."

She settles down in bed with her daughter, and looks out at the darkening room. "There is no one in this world that can get through me," she insists. "No pirates, or Evil Queens. Do you understand? I'll protect you…"

Snow's words wrap around Emma's six year old subconscious like a security blanket. She's still restless, but nuzzles into the woman, gradually settling down. She can hear the clock as she drifts into sleep, but finds it overshadowed by Mary Margaret's gentle voice...

* * *

AN: Thanks everyone for the reviews! Sorry we took so long with the update. We've had a busy couple of weeks.

SimpleLines: Glad the chapter made your weekend better, and we're so happy you enjoyed the Henry/Emma scenes! As you can see, Mary Margaret _has_ remembered that she is Snow, but Emma hasn't recovered her memories yet.

We chose to do this because we wanted there to be an opportunity for Snow to remember before Emma grows up. This gives _Snow_ the chance to be her mother, and this will make the drama all the more complex when the curse is broken for the second time.

7Seven7: Snow is the only one who remembers, for now… ;)

And yes, my co-writer happens to be very gifted at coming up with cute/in-character actions & lines for Emma. Makes it a fun process to write with her.

Lola: Such nice compliments! ;) Cool. So glad you didn't think my Ruby was lame.

It's not strange because Snow/MM _is actually_ her mother. ;) Otherwise, I'd agree. It might be strange.

And yes, you were right with your assumptions!

Aod4L: Yay, so glad you love the story! ;) Thanks for the review!

Shaley-Humdinger-the-3rd: Yes! She does remember. I hope… I did justice… to that.

Kelli Maguire: Thank you! Glad you're still sticking with it. ;)

Temo: Well, you were either the person who wanted to read more, or the person who claimed that reading our story made you smarter. I'm pretty good when it comes to deductive reasoning skills. ;)

Happy you liked the scenes with Emma and Ruby. And, yes, Emma has a very good reason for hating pirates. Interestingly enough, Captain Hook will be in one of the early episodes of OUAT next season…

And, no, the book was not Regina's gift. But, yes… it was my intention to put everyone on edge for the entirety of the chapter, and not address the "gift" until this one.

We had a debate over the dog's name. I wanted MM to come up with an ABSURD name, and for David and Emma to instantly reject it. But… the person who is writing the part of Emma was like, "We should actually name him this."

Humphrey is apparently the name of a bear from a Walt Disney cartoon? I wasn't aware of that. It's also derived from a German word that means "bear." In the original Grimm's fairytales, Snow White helps free a prince that was turned into a bear by an evil dwarf, which is why I chose it…

We decided to make MM _really_ remember because we wanted her to have the opportunity to help Emma when she has the knowledge that she is, in fact, her mother. We did this for a few reasons: 1) When the curse breaks and Emma does finally remember, she's not going to be happy, or feel cordial towards MM/Snow. This sets us up for an even more dramatic turn of events, I think. 2) It will be pretty devastating for MM/Snow to _be_ a mother to a young child for a short amount of time, and have that ripped away from her. She's essentially getting the opportunity to raise her lost baby….

LittleRedRidingVanz: Yay! We're so glad that our story is your favorite. We really do enjoy all of the characters. It's the main reason we're invested in the show. Glad you liked the part with Ruby. ;)


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